


Care of the Angel

by ElenoftheWays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Before Episode s09e6 Heaven Can't Wait, Castiel Deals With Human Emotions, Castiel Watches Movies, Castiel's Nickname is Cass, Castiel/Original Character but not in the way you think, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Human Castiel, Introspection, M/M, Post-Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Spiritual, Unrequited Love, because human Cas swinging on a swing and finding amusement in Bambi will make your heart happy, conversations about faith, conversations about sex, conversations about what it means to be human, one f-bomb in Chapter 5 you've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenoftheWays/pseuds/ElenoftheWays
Summary: *1 = "Angels." Within Temptation. "The Silent Force." (2004)*2 = "Today Will Be Better (I Swear!)" Stars. "In Our Bedroom After the War." (2007)*3 = "Life 2: The Unhappy Ending." Stars. "In Our Bedrooms After the War." (2007)*4 = "You and me are just not cut out for human society. It's too incredible for our personalities."





	1. Chapter 1

“Steve? The part of you that overreacted, that cares so much? That’s what makes you special.”

This really was the last thing he needed to hear, avoiding that all too insistent smiling gaze. Now as a human, everything was far more complicated and weighed a surprising density against shoulders.

Dean could not have looked more comforting in that moment, turning around and finding him getting off of his phone. There was little doubt that it was Sam on the other end of it. A sigh breathed out and not even his presence was enough to relieve this weight against the shoulders.

“By choosing a human life, you’ve already given up.” 

“By choosing a human life, you’ve already given up. …”

But the farther the feet walked away from the most mortifying and complicated evening, the more a strange tingling warmth inched across the chest and arms. Tanya’s wiggling body must have undulated her shape against his. The sensation was rather delightful, almost as delightful as eating. She was rubbing off on him.

“I guess that’s the moral of today’s story then: amuse yourself like a child. Use your intuition and have a idea of what you want but always remain present.”

The sound of the moving gate screeched much louder in the, no __his__ , ears and there this body was out in the cool Rexford night. And Dean was standing right there. The sense of being overjoyed was short lived all over again, switching back and forth from remembering that face telling him to leave the bunker. The crescent moonlight could barely relieve __this__  weight although the feeling of Tanya’s body against him continued to warm his chest. Hopefully she would not remember having been held by a prior angel with the inability to provide her with an adequate lullaby. But at this moment, feet stopped at the front passenger side of Dean’s blessed Impala still unable to meet those green eyes completely.

“Where to, Cas?” that familiar sad smile was all over that green gaze. A nerve rang through every inch of his body just looking at that sadness. Dean still could not offer him an explanation to being kicked out yet he still looked at him with that helpless look, but even condemning Dean’s effortless sympathy was too easy. Where was that intuition in this mess? Was it in those understanding eyes wincing towards his within their own internal war? That was always a beautiful thing to behold even after all of these years, but he had to look away still feeling that tiny bit of gratitude that somehow managed to hang on. Although with gratitude came the disappointment. Was there something intuitive in this mess?

Perhaps the older Winchester could drop him off a block away from her apartment, but could he without making any lewd assumptions? It was pretty safe to believe that after everything that came out of that mouth, she had a good opinion about the hunter and Dean would not like her that much with what she knew. But then it would be rude to not prolong Dean’s visit just a little longer. Would he ever get this chance again?

His breath heaved than sighed.

Tears were not too far away, having at last fallen from that usual precipice in this human state, but he couldn’t now. The complicated buzzing was overwhelming in this, his, mind. There was too much being processed all at once, those hopeless words to the small Tanya, Ephraim, the mixture of hurt and excitement seeing Dean from across the Gas n Sip counter. How could humans deal with so many things happening to their bodies all at once? He shifted once, twice, completely unable to offer anything to this moment but to open the Impala’s door and give into whatever Dean had in mind.

The driver’s side door closed with a “well, alright then. I could use some food and you look like you’ve had one too many ramen packs, buddy.” Dean was grinning that faint “I’m trying to be cheerful but sympathetic at the same time” smile as that square chin cocked in his direction. The mouth could only purse itself against that natural sarcasm, indulging in another sigh. “So, know any place where a guy could get some pizza?”

 

*

 

Hunger was downright annoying. One minute there was nothing he wanted more than to lay on his air mattress at the Gas n Sip, then under the effect of location and the smell before him, the, no his, stomach downright burned for a slice of that Meat Lover’s pizza.

Rexford did not have a large array of bars, but it was strange that Dean wanted to come here. The restaurant was close to empty but full of bright fluorescent lights and uncomfortable vinyl benches as hips shifted against the seat. Thankfully, there was enough sound to distract the mind between the employees talking behind the counter and overhead music. An exhale masked a sigh. Once there was a time when he could sense everything in a room, an overwhelming collective of people’s thoughts, motivations, the complexities of their minds, sadness. Now all he could feel was his own, knowing to have been a failure to so many of his brothers and sisters, some who even looked up to him! Death might not be the end result of failing, but once she did say that “within failure there is acceptance in some form.” It was pointless to blame one side of something far more complex, so he contented to look down to the pie made of bread, cheese, and meat.

“Cas? Earth to Cas? E.T. phone home?” a slice waved just above the peripheral vision and it was the official prompt to horde two pieces on his plate. Damning hunger was the only thought in the mind looking up to those eyes. They blazed in approval although the eyebrows ruffled, perhaps fascinated to find an angel, ex-angel, eating like this. Thankfully, his exhale masked a sigh, leaning back against the hard material of the bench. “So, what have you been doing other than selling people cigarettes and cheap liquor?”

“All I do is work, Dean” somehow came flying out of his throat.

“Yeah, but you have to have had some extracurriculars outside of business hours, right?”

A mouth gave into the indulgence of cheese and meat, even his fingers felt more pronounced against the dough in its flexibility. Funny how in all of the years this particular recipe existed, there had been so many ways both in and outside of the States to eat this simple object. Jimmy Novak’s shell chose to hold it on either side of the crust, bending the pie together as another bite entered his mouth. It was strange identifying the vessel as integrated with his source, proving it still difficult after three weeks to relate the two beings together.

“Seriously, Cas,” it was barely a shout but commanded enough attention as those green eyes practically blazed a fire to the other side of the table, “You have every right to wallow and be pissed at me about the whole bunker situation, but I am here buying you pizza and we’re not at a bar so I can actually hear you. Tell me things. What is a day in the life of Steve?”

What could he remotely tell him?


	2. "What Do You Believe In, Castiel?"

How on his first day off, the benches at the park practically called out to him? Benches thankfully still maintained that power as a perfect piece of furniture for the natural observer like him. Even in his angelic state, these pieces of wood or meshed metal did run the risk of being brushed against, although in this way it was easier to see within people. Humans did seem to be more sensitive on benches whether repressing or expressing emotions bubbling from under their skin. Even one of the first conversations with Dean was on a bench, where all of this fascination with the hunter in his human form first began. This hypothesis was pleasing and lips faintly lifted at the thought, glad to have chosen a slightly bustling park on a Saturday afternoon. Working at the Gas n Sip as often as he could quenched that familiar militant structure he was used to, but the gas station did have other employees. Nora all but pushed him out the door complete with something she called a “paper bag lunch.”

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich tasted magnificent and like the many times before in realizing the sensation of hunger, an anxious guilt could only bunch up in his throat. How strange was it to really feel a part of a throat! More importantly, how strange was it to really feel a part of a mind! After having spent so much time hovering over each human process, feeling sensations but never truly attaching to them, now it was practically maddening! Each one screamed to one another, the muscles to the mind, breath, feeling the different speeds of the bloodstream according to mood or restlessness, hunger. How could humans cope with all of these multiple overwhelming biological systems? It exhausted him, having slept for almost a whole 12 hours once.

Sleep was another thing completely, feeling a tidal wave of emotions once sneaking back into the Gas n Sip where his air mattress laid in the backroom. Falling asleep was always quick and the activity a deep one, although with a weight hanging off ofe his eyelids. Then it happened. Although it was just a few nights ago, that weight finally relieved itself from the eyes. They finally discarded tears. Human tears. What he was thinking about before falling asleep, he couldn’t remember. His essence often propelled the need for tears, but now they could not be restrained. There was too many human processes and too much to think about. It all practically buzzed between his ears: Metatron, reliving the release of his grace, feeling attached to breathing looking up to his brothers and sisters falling, Dean offering him no reason as to why he couldn’t stay at the bunker. He slept even longer that night.

This bench felt pleasant enough, looking out across the bare sports field, the carousel moderately full of children. A sign was taped against a picnic table that read “Happy Birthday, Grace.” Somehow the, __his__ , mouth surprisingly tilted, barely a smile, indulging in the innocents finding enjoyment in the constant rotation on plastic horses. Were riding real ones so great a risk? Nerves jumped from the simplest act of inhaling and he looked into the moderately overcast sky. Somewhere beyond there was Metatron in an empty heaven plotting something greater that even he couldn’t foresee and he could do nothing.

And Metatron believed being human would be good for me, apparently __he__ never actually tried it. There’s a difference between hiding within human culture and another to be among the humans as one!

A hand lifted to the forehead then glided down the bumps of eyelids, nose, and mouth. The sensations were strange, the coarseness of flesh against flesh was complete with a skip of a nerve or blood vessels under his skin, all responding to this simple movement. A breath practically wracked against his ribs. To think that all of those fallen but luckily vessel enclosed angels must have been going through this same exact torment. The body felt numb to this situation, having gone through it so often that empathy and grief was equally impossible to be felt. This was all on him. That hand fell back into his lap and a flash of red fluttered in the middle of a small cluster of trees straight across the sports field.

It was safe to assume that his grace helped Jimmy’s deteriorating line of vision, now integrated with the eyes he hovered over for far too long. The wince now proved inevitable, the same wince Dean had a habit of making a face towards. Through the blurriness, a woman was attached to that flash of red that was her hair. From what could be perceived, the brightness of it landed against white shoulders and jeans clad the rest of her body, shamelessly carrying shoes as bare feet pressed against the grass underneath them. This was fascinating.

An ancient prophet, far more unknown than the ones who wrote those Gospels, once wrote and preached “but ask the beasts, and they will teach you, the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you; or the bushes of the earth, and they will teach you; and the fish of the sea will declare to you. [[1](%E2%80%9C#note1%E2%80%9D)]” Humans were often wrong when it came to printing God’s ways, but this had to have been the closest thing to the truth. It was safe to say he had never seen anyone in this contemporary age do this before. This simple act was so full of a beautiful faith and yet a faith that he had lost all at the same.

But when did he lose it officially? Somewhere between accepting that God was never coming back and the first time when he considered allowing the Leviathan to enter his body? When did his morals shatter completely?

They were always slowly breaking apart until those dark green eyes averted from his with a “listen buddy, um, you can’t stay here.” He always insisted to the Winchesters that his issue always laid with the angels but God would always have his unwavering devotion, but what about now? That tearful precipice teetered a little stronger than usual as eyes looked back up into the sky. Nothing felt more desirable than to escape to his air mattress.

She leaned up against the side of an oak tree closest to the sports field, closing her eyes as red-stained hair dropped against its bark. It still was fascinating; almost as hypnotic watching the once pagan country folk integrate the prophets and missionaries’ causes into their own individual cultures. Seasonal festivals were re-marketed. Previous regional deities were re-branded as saints. It seemed like enough at the time. The multiple different ways of worship were fascinating, but especially when people took to their surroundings of nature. It still was beautiful, watching a chest gently rise and fall for many minutes and perhaps for a little too long. Dean probably would not advise this.

But this feels wildly different. What does feel actually mean when I think something feels wildly different?!

It was still difficult to take responsibility for each element of the human experience. The body was easy to contend with in feeding and resting it, save for all of those processes, but it was the forever racing mind that was the real problem. It asked questions of things he could not even perceive to answer in its constant buzzing with thought and building up fluid in the tear ducts. What did it mean to __abstractly__  feel when something __physically__  feels wildly different? A flutter ran through nerves even stronger than before, his eyes suddenly wet. Strange how from a simple question blood rushed in veins and breath began to slightly heave. What was this? Even the, his, head felt light within the frustration. If he were to ever get his grace back, respect for all humans would be far more vivid in hindsight. To live through something crippling like this was quite remarkable. But right now there was nothing he could do save for pounding his fists down on either side of that blessed invention of a bench.

“I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story.”

Now it was faint tears that clouded that peaceful and happy image of that woman across the field. Breath began to come back at a far more regular rhythm and strangely, his began to synchronize with hers. The human body was an endless mystery in this way. Those hands and fingers still continued to brush soil and roots on either side of her and a smile was not too difficult to discern in this fog. Both of her shoes were quickly picked up. This was probably one of his more enjoyable experiences as a human, although the angelic part of him still found itself complimented by that faith. Even if he never spoke to her… but what if he did? Now she was slowly standing up and brushing off the back of her legs. If he ever had a chance to compliment at least one person of that percentage, it should be now, but could he restrain himself from admitting too much information?

Perhaps he sprung too quickly off of the bench as a hand instinctively pressed against the back of his neck. It was far too easy to charge towards people or things, but how could one be swift and not look as if they were going invade hell a second time around? In continuing forward, focus began to sharpen the closer he became noticing the denim fibers of jeans and  lace around the collar of her shirt. He must have captured her attention somewhere between releasing the hold on the back of his neck and when flexing pupils found a wince looking right back into his. Even her eyes were full of that peaceful glow. It was still beautiful and yet heartbreaking all at once, that side of him capable of faith remaining fascinated.

It was stupid to compare her to all of the blond women that effortlessly came across his path. Even underneath that rapture, she looked drastically different than all of them as long auburn fringe decorated her forehead and the rest of her hair fell in waves down one shoulder, turquoise colored glasses covering curiously wincing bright green and gold eyes. The gold was rather haunting. Her face was small with an oval chin and petite yet full lips although it was the cheekbones that seemed to glow the most, stained with a slight blush underneath. She was beautiful and yet something else existed in those strangely expressive irises as they widened once he stood just feet away from her. His foot instinctively went back another inch, just in case, and a chin lowered.

“This is terrifying you, I more than agree” somehow managed to come out of his throat looking around this small cove of trees. It felt even more peaceful than what was radiating off of her. Hopefully he made a good impression in humorous self deprecation, having watched Dean do it more than enough to himself.

But those eyelids blinked, the alternating green and gold that comprised her eye color almost diminished in their brightness. They winced all over again. A hum gently and thoughtfully reverberated before a “no, not completely” which had a musical quality all of its own. He could finally understand why this tiny cluster of trees felt so calming from where he stood, looking up into the sky and seeing a perfect circular border of leaves and branches almost adorning the clouds beyond them. But in looking back down, she was still smiling that peace although eyelids remained skeptical even as they slowly widened mockingly. “But if you need to make it terrifying, please make it quick and preferably painless, shit,” those eyes completely closed before blinking up towards his, “that’s definitely __not__ funny. But then gallows humor is not made for the masses.”

“And I am one of the masses.”

Apparently he was wrong in the polite distance between them as bare feet walked towards him. A sandal remained in each respective hand. She was shorter and curvier than most of the women he had met. As she walked, a sparkling color jumped from her toe nails until standing in front of him completely. Now it was his turn to step an inch further away, trying to be better than that angel that was forever “getting into [Dean’s] grill.”

Her eyes were even brighter in this vicinity as eyelids became even heavier against that strange and complex iris color. This must have been some kind of medical condition of some kind. Auburn hair fell against the shoulder of a flowing white shirt as her throat hummed a “hmm, no.”

He finally understood what it meant to be profoundly without words. Perhaps this moment was the right time to start rehearsing this compliment in his head. I… I find what you were doing just then, among God’s creations of trees to be a very beautiful act. I have not seen that in a very long time. Was that enough? “No. …” At this, eyes darted to the ground, a pink-gold paint on her toenails barely outside of the peripheral vision. Her feet looked somewhat mangled for someone as young as she looked, but there was no guessing her age.

“Your eyes have seen too much but have known too little.”

He looked up perhaps a little too quickly and his hand covered the back of the, his, neck all over again. Something cold pierced the chest just from those words. A slow smile was lightening up all of her ageless face as if clueless to what her words had done to him. But what had they done? Now he was definitely staring, almost hearing Dean’s voice in the back of his mind to “ease up, tiger.” Looking into her face but barely her eyes “a-and how could you perceive that?”

It was one thing for Sam, and even Dean even if he did not realize it, to have a natural intuition about people but this was something else completely. Those words punctured a cold wound into his stomach, looking into her face speechless. Dean always could see through him with that scar of his hand against his shoulder, but what was it that brought her to say __this__  to __him__? Dean once told him that “when you assume things you make an ass out of you and me.” He pondered the statement for far too many years. If this was an assumption simply based on intuition, she was not wrong. But when Dean intuitively assumed something about him, the sensation was warm yet conflicted. Was it better to have an icy sensation in the chest and speechless?

“I have super powers?” slurred rhetorically out of her as a nose wrinkled humorously, a gold nose stud sparkling in the movement. Even a shrug inched up towards a mole against the left side of her neck. “Sometimes I can just sense things beyond my control, most of the time I don’t even have words for what I feel. But,” those waves dropped against her right shoulder all over again, “you’re definitely not one of the masses, otherwise you wouldn’t have that look all over your face.”

“I have a look on my face?”

“Well, you do look like someone just kicked your puppy.” Her sarcasm was far more earnestly playful even in all of its cynicism, proving something different than the Winchesters or the coarser mockery of Crowley and all of his demons. He was still fascinated, surprised to feel a smile slowly inch up the mouth. She was not too far behind in the sharing of an innocent grin, shifting weight onto one leg then another as she moved a shoe to her other hand. “I--I don’t typically do this, b-but” and that free hand reached out in the air between them, “I’m Elen.”

A hand wrapped across hers and “Castiel” fell out far too easily. How could that Steve, a name he overheard on a bus once, not come out? It couldn’t be taken back as a heat began to rise up his neck. Thankfully, she was too busy looking at the hands that should have been shaking but remained stagnant. “I-I mean, that was my name before--b-before--”

“At ease, Castiel” and that small and gentle hand released his. Perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight which disappeared under a cloud as her eye color shifted into a brighter gold than before. Was she some hunter’s future magical conquest? But they closed, copper eyebrows escaped from behind her fringe momentarily wrinkling. “Excuse me, a momentary headache” deeply rumbled out of her throat. Her eyes were still gold as they looked so sympathetic back into his. “But I think I understand what you mean. People here in Rexford know me as Elen, but I was not born with this name. Should I call you something else?”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Well, there you go, Castiel--” there was a natural flip against her r just then. Her accent was fascinating, American in one moment and something else in the other. The observation came and went as eyelashes interrupted thought, blinking as if probing for a surname.

“Just Castiel, and yours is--”

“Well, I am proud of the surname I was born with, but for right now, it’s just Elen. Like the Welsh Goddess.”

“Goddess” moved confused against the lips. This woman named Elen, named after a __Goddess__ , walked back to that spot under her tree and dropping her sandals all over again. Now he finally understood the human idiom of being frozen to the spot in shock. This was very unexpected although after having heard of Dean and Sam’s exploits with witches and pagan Gods. It was just not his area of expertise and even more so with a person who believed in a deity who he did not work for!

“You should sit with me, I-I mean, only if you want. Now __I’m__  the one making it terrifying.” Those eyes momentarily rolled as r’s flipped all over again. It was not too difficult to not smile at this, watching knees draw up towards her chest. Toes were gliding between blades of grass and a prominent shudder trembled shoulders. This too was curious as those eyelids closed, breathing out shakily before dropping her forehead against kneecaps. “Well, that was embarrassing” came out muffled as she spoke into her lap. That red hair flipped back up and over shoulders, “Now we’re even!” seemed to be the official and cheerful word on that matter as she shrugged, fringe being carefully replaced against her forehead. Some of those hairs were pushed into the deep wave that framed the right side of her face.

“I’m embarrassed?”

“Your cheeks are a little pink” sounded so matter of fact against his ears, he struggled to suppress a smile.

There was a street beyond these strategically placed trees, some in circles or clusters, but beyond them was a block of identical multicolored homes. Cars sat in the driveways, some with children’s bikes and toys left in front of bushes and sidewalks. That was the life Metatron wanted for him. What would that insane angel say to this experience if he saw him right now? He could only imagine that maniacal laugh out of that throat the second he found the body sitting down opposite of those naked feet. “I feel I must apologize. I-I have never been acquainted with any Goddesses before.”

“She’s not that well known, not like Aphrodite or Kali,” lips couldn’t help but purse remembering the Winchesters run in with the latter Goddess. “But she’s the Welsh Goddess of roads, of paths both real and in dreams,” Thick eyelashes blinked across that patchwork of hazel and green, looking just as peaceful as her face although legs shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not surprised that you’ve never been acquainted with any, many people don’t even know their own Christianity once had a Goddess.”

“Sophia,” he remembered the concept the Apocryphal[[2](%E2%80%9C#note2%E2%80%9D)] authors and poets came up with. There was always an archangel reminding all earthbound departments to never take those writings too seriously. Curiously, the command was always very adamant and matter of fact.

“So technically you __are__  acquainted with a Goddess,” that peaceful grin teased. As she leaned forward, with a chin dropping on crossed forearms which laid on top of her knees, “But you don’t believe in the idea. What do you believe in, Castiel?”

No one had ever asked him that question in this way before, it always came to him in a command complete with an angel blade tapping at his neck. A hand instinctively went to that spot where Metatron took his grace from, feeling nothing but whatever human nerve it was that became stimulated under the touch of the chin. It barely shouted like it used to. Once more his hand could only drop to the dark jeans he attained, looking down to the ridiculous white t-shirt and red hoodie he wore.

“Well, I,” a breath heaved as eyes met those effortlessly glowing ones. This Elen had to be one of the few people he had ever met where staring into their eyes was more of a feat to understand the color! Before it had always been about the pupil in searching for a person’s motivation or true self and hers were just as pure yet complex as that color! At this moment, in this distance, hazel orbs seemed to reflect green and gold shimmers. A faint blue even passed across the left eye. He hadn’t noticed right away that both of her eyes were two different shades of the same color. Fascinating. “I believed in God. I believed in serving justice in his name against his enemies and sometimes from his own power hungry followers.”  

“Believ _ _ed__?”

“Believed” he parroted and the, his, voice could not have sounded more wounded in one word. She was grinning a sympathetic smile directly at him before eyes stared at the tops of his hands.

“Well, at least you can say you have spirituality than religion. There is that quote that says religion is just crowd control and all that truly matters is the private relationship between a person and whichever divinity they are called to. Sometimes it comes to you even in dreams no matter your age,” the grin lifted from its peace as red hair rustled against oak bark. A hand humorously lifted. “Personal experience.”

Eyebrows couldn’t help but lift all on their own. Was this the conversation he always secretly wanted? This was more than what it meant to be a good or a bad angel all those years ago freshly vesseled and conscious of everything he could never perceive in fully thinking about. There was too much going on between stopping the apocalypse and dealing with less than desirable family members. Was this that conversation of faith he always wanted? The question almost blinked tears into his eyes, watching her smile at him with all of the patience in the world. By this point, Dean would have had a brash comment. She was different than all of them, no matter of heaven or hell.

Well, that rehearsed compliment was officially off of the table.

“I-is there a name for your spiritual relationship?”

“Celtic,” she nodded with a glow that practically burst into flames from the two simple syllables. It was nowhere near the velocity of light of a grace being murdered, but it was a beautiful reaction. “But I am aware that it is more of a tribal name than a spirituality, so I try to merge a natural intuition and research with what is there with Druidism. So really, the average small town Christian would just call me a pagan or,” her throat quickly scoffed, “a devil worshiper but it’s so much more than a spiritual experience. I--,” a hand lifted to touch the root of the tree where it began its descent into the ground below, “It follows me.” Tears were appearing in those fascinating eyes of hers.

“The Celts.” This habit of parroting her words back to her was beginning to be a habit. “They seemed to be interesting people. Some went into battle wearing nothing but warpaint, completely unbridled at the concept of death.”

“Because entering death only cycles to being reborn to some capacity, so better to be naked to speed up the process or something.” That grin evaporated to something a little more somber, legs crossing in front of her with arms taking the same shape at her lap. A sigh breathed outwards, “It’s a beautiful thought though and it does makes sense. Shows the enemy they are not afraid to die and they are to be feared to have this ardent faith in the cycle of life and death. Like a visceral--” red hair shook across her shoulders and against the bark all over again, those eyes clearly in thought. “Fear tactic. It worked and because it worked, no one else saw what they were doing and marginalized them.” A sadness flashed through those thinking eyes, “I like to think there’s pride somewhere in that ugliness.”

Now he was definitely embarrassed as hands pressed against one another. To go into that compliment would be pointless, but there was the smallest temptation that wanted to walk away from this conversation. Could he? But at the same time, there was also the temptation to continue this, apologizing for what his God’s representatives did to her people. Humans always did equate talking a marginalized other into forcing their ways on them without a dialogue. But what would the apology solve? How could he agree on the strange majesty of a petty yet Celtic battle and yet still feel the faintest honor towards a broken system that was heaven? He was reminded of that place he once called home. His hands quickly wiped the mouth, his thumbs positioning themselves on either side of the nose as they held his face up.

“You look like you need a roads Goddess.”

“Do you know one?” just fell right out of him, surprised at the sudden wit. Even eyes slightly widened around his faint smile that was forming against the lips. She grinned back at him.

“Don’t I wish,” that strange accent almost grumbled although maintaining that humor. “I only took the name because I outgrew my biological name’s nickname. It might be a step towards the Bardic one I’m meant to have.” Those eyes narrowed and for a moment, Elen looked as if she was far away from sitting underneath that tree, slowly shaking her head. “I was never able to connect with the name I was given. Plus,” the quick word came out louder than expected, “Elen of the Ways is always around me to some capacity, taunting me about the things I should be doing.”  

“And what should you be doing?”

“Probably not staying up at odd hours of the night writing and reading ridiculous things. I barely focus on the work I want to do when I do have time for it because the world is forever shouting at me to,” those eyes widened slightly, clearly lost in her words and herself, “get a more consistent job, make more money and less art, make a heteronormative life for myself. I am ambitious but only to a point. I can only deal with so much stupid.” A laugh couldn’t be helped against the wryness of her voice. It actually felt good to wholeheartedly laugh.

It was strange how human emotions could be all over the map now fully attached to a vessel. That weight of the angels and Metatron was always there against his body, but it was odd to watch someone unfold in front of him. At one moment, it was peaceful and at the quickest tone of voice, a burst of positive emotion never felt more inconsistent and yet cathartic. He could simply thank Elen for this one small thing and officially walk away from all of this.

“What’s with the tears, weary road traveler?” officially stopped that temptation to find a way out of this interaction. Did she intuitively feel this or was the traitorous physical evidence all over him? He had never cried in front of anyone before except for when Dean’s face looked hazy against collecting repressed tears. That auburn shade of her hair was not up against the tree as she leaned forward, “I may not be a path Goddess, but I’m good to listen. Trust me,” an exaggerated nod tipped her head back slightly, “I have had so many people kick me into a counselor status, it’s almost sad.”

“I would never want to kick you, that does not sound advisable for someone looking for help.”

Figuratively. He knew Elen meant it figuratively and yet old habits die hard. But this was a level of patience he never received from the Winchesters watching that smile on her face suddenly lifting in a slight amusement. “Goddess, you’re adorable.” Now that he had never heard before after taking something literally and especially her word usage! Those strangely colored irises flexed in a soft insistence. “Well, the offer is on the table. I’m a very good listener. No pressure or anything, but you almost buckled down in front of me just now and where tears are, sometimes words are not too far behind. Maybe that’s what brought you over here to talk to me, damn highly sensitive radar,” Elen giggled but then stopped just as quickly as she began, “W-why did you? I-I mean, come over here?”

“I-I--” there was no preparation for this embarrassment. But for all of the earnest honesty that practically breathed off of this strange woman, it was impossible to lie. Would Elen believe him even in all of her cultural defiance? He could lie, but he was never a great liar and both Winchester brothers could attest to this. Against the corner of his eye laid a pink bicycle sitting in the middle of a sidewalk across the street, a child kicking a soccer ball on that field that once separated the two parties sitting across from one another underneath this tree. “The words,” the volume of those syllables caused the nerves to jump wildly, “Th-the words I carefully planned w-was,” the body inhaled then exhaled. Were those tears against the corners of his eyes? “I find what you were doing just then, among God’s creations of trees to be a very beautiful act. I have not seen that in a very long time, but you’re not…” The head shook interrupting his own sentence, “I am very embarrassed…”

“Please, don’t be! Would it have been very apparent if I wore my Awen[[3](%E2%80%9C#note3%E2%80%9D)] necklace, If I spoke some Welsh? A Druid author[[4](%E2%80%9C#note4%E2%80%9D)] once wrote that spirituality __is__ always subtle.”

“In my experience, religion was never the problem, it was the power. The archangels always were using it as some political game, becoming so power-hungry they lost sight of themselves. I-I tried to talk sense into everyone but that didn’t work. Then I attempted focus on the people who do—did care about me and obviously __that__ didn’t work. What do people want from me when all I want is to bring heaven to some state of peace? Metatron should not have just taken my grace, he should have killed me. Just one more fallen angel from his idea of heaven--”

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

“What?”

His breath at last caught itself, hitching against a soft gasp of air in the back of the throat. That glow on her face proved unrelenting once more, although now wincing in a slight amusement. “Oh, I—‘ his neck began its ascent into a nod. If the face was hot with the assumption of her faith before, heat practically emblazoned itself from his chin up to the forehead. How did he allow all of that to slip? “Oh, I said that out loud. I-I didn’t mean to. You’re very comfortable to speak to.”

“It’s definitely not the last time I’ll ever hear that in my lifetime,” an eyebrow effortlessly teased. A lip strangely lifted, nerves around the mouth tingling with fascination from this act of smiling. Those strange multicolored eyes were hooded by their individual lids, wincing in a way that felt all too familiar by now. “You are a very curious person” broke through the silence, as that smile glided back into a state of amusement and eyes slowly rolled through her words, “Well, you’re more like a riddle than a person.”

“Thank you?”

His mouth widened further, stretching along the same vicinity of her grin. Laughing hazel-gold-green-blue eyes looked into his and it proved contagious. This was nowhere close to that profound bond with Dean, but something vibrated in muscles and nothing had felt… __felt__ … more real. Here he was, tied into the remainder of Jimmy Novak’s body which sat on the ground than a bench and speaking to someone with a far more ardently organic faith than any of the angels he tended to come across. Perhaps it was poetic justice against what was his previous “story,” or according to Metatron, the lack of one, now being involved in something that was quite beyond him. Was this a “story?” The word was beginning to give him a chill, fascinated that a body could be so repelled.

“—after all, I am a poet. No bard, but just an unimportant poet. I can do this,” and all of her hair tilted to the side, brushing against the coarse trunk of the oak tree behind her. Whatever was happening, it didn’t matter as long as it was with her with no end to this conversation in sight. Foreseeing this event was inevitable, but nowhere near a conclusion. “You are a riddle after all; I think I could write one off of that face.” That contagious grin caught up to him all over again. This smiling business was rather easy now as a human. “But not when you’re smiling.”

Naturally, his grin disappeared and Elen’s strange eyes just rolled.

“I-I mean, there’s a world of complexity in them when a person isn’t distracted by the rest of the face. Ooh, I know, I got it.” Eyebrows couldn’t help but wince confused watching those eyes now completely lost in thought. “I am weathered, I am old, my forehead knows sadness and the weight in my eyes are never told.” That gaze came back to his, practically probing like the previous quest for a surname, “I have seen the divine and yet too little, I have soared to the tallest heights and yet now am earthbound. What am I?”

The sound of swallowing saliva in his mouth echoed loudly in eardrums. He looked down to the hands, studying each line and the pale color of the nail. Why does the human fingernail have such a curious color? There were too many questions to ask about the human body both ridiculous and some perhaps even profound. But in looking down, could this conversation continue and could she not find his words the ravings of a so-called mad man? Looking up, those eyes still radiated all the understanding in the world. He didn’t deserve it.

“A-a fallen angel.”  

He proceeded to tell her everything

 

*

 

How he was still haunted by that question days after having heard it? “What do you believe in, Castiel?” continued in his mind, in that same inquisitive tone over and over again. How was it possible after all that had happened over these past five years, disgracing his brothers and sisters, becoming Godlike with the Leviathan inside of him, and becoming friends with the Winchesters, he was able to say he still believed in God? For someone to have created a hierarchy of angels with no ability to identify their own free will, how was it even possible he could so easily form the simplest “I believed in God?” Was it residual faith? A default conviction in having been created by him of the most high? How else could he have come back from the apocalypse if God wasn’t looking?

The act of telling his life story to this woman was strange yet cathartic. Something hummed through the mind and down through the nerves, practically vibrating the moment words seemed beyond him. It was impossible to not worry for Elen to find him insane, yet that Saturday proved her unflappable. Never once did that ageless woman think him crazy as he ranted on about what it was like to enclose himself inside of Jimmy Novak. There was never time in hovering over Jimmy’s biological needs to recognize what it felt like to really be within a vessel. He had never been in one before.

It was one thing to have stared into that Righteous Man’s vulnerability from his own celestial body, but it was another to be inside of a vessel incredibly motivated in asking Dean for assistance. Jimmy himself practically lurched backwards in their shared body, impressed yet terrified at that tall man staring down their pupils. His mind went back to that exact moment, unfurling his wings in that barn while staring down the Winchester hoping to find that tortured sensitivity he had saved. Elen’s own half American accent stopped the memory entirely with an “I know exactly what that feels like.”

The chest felt cold, as if having been stabbed with an icy dagger than the sensation her intuition caused. Had one of his brothers or sisters taken over her vessel? He could not have sat anymore still, realizing his own widening eyes then steadying the breath for the worst.

“Let’s just say that there are some people in this world who can be more disconnected from their physical bodies, believing themselves comprised of stardust or textbooks or the smell of rain or how the mind gears itself against intelligence. But that’s a smaller percentage than those who are of gallows humor,” she quickly teased with a gesturing hand swatting the air in front of her.

He continued to sit opposite of those naked feet. There was a temptation to ask her what it was that she believed. It was obvious Elen believed in nature as her hands and feet continued to press into the ground every few minutes, her spine stretching against the tree trunk. She must have also believed in that path goddess to a degree. Even after the new work week began, cashiering for many shifts in a row, it was easy to have been distracted by this chance meeting. He only hoped he hid it well.

But consistency didn’t always keep him on for many shifts although Nora was grateful. Her smile was nice, she had even shown him a picture of her little girl. Tanya looked like her. The second time she insisted for him to take a shift off involved no sandwiches but a shrug and  “sorry Steve, I have a new part timer to train. I would let you train her, but you haven’t been with us long enough.”

There really was nowhere else to go on a Wednesday afternoon than the park. This time it was not as populated as that past Saturday. He doubted there was little hope to run into that strange woman all over again, hearing his stomach quietly moan out. Maybe he should have brought that emergency pop tart that was in the pocket of his red hoodie. Hunger was strange, receiving the first cravings for the day having forgotten to have eaten that morning. This time, his stomach had grumbled so hard, the head swam all at the same time. But the more he focused on this oddity, the less he thought about her and that question.

“What do you believe in, Castiel?”

As often as that moment repeated in his mind, that pause seemed to grow even longer and more deafening. Sometimes in his memory, he did not even answer her. What did he believe than believ _ _ed__? He believed in Dean Winchester. That too had been the default for five years after invading hell to retrieve him. It was strange to think his life without the Winchesters, never realizing before receiving those garrison orders that they would affect the rest of his life for better or for worse. But he believed in Dean Winchester’s sense of loyalty and honor, how defending mankind was worth something as long as people like him and his brother existed among them. It wouldn’t be surprising if those two things were the reasons as to why he couldn’t stay at the Men of Letters Bunker. The hunter was never completely clear even in his more honorable intentions, but it was still no consolation as to how he felt watching those words come out of that man he believed in.  

He believed in mankind defending itself, fully enacting their privilege of free will. The opinion than its words that came out of his mouth walking into the Lady of Serenity Church were somewhat his, but the rage bubbling underneath them was far more amplified by the Leviathan than anything else. “Tell your flock where your genitals have been before you speak for me. …” Thankfully now his stomach turned at every moment identifying himself as God and killing as one. But humans were wonderful and yet awful in that way, restricting themselves from their natural primitiveness yet were never far away from it. They were free to ruin or flourish their lives as they saw fit, but nothing really stopped the battles against one another century after century. Exhaustion began to loom over his celestial body having watched them for so long. But it was the rituals each civilization had towards their battles were fascinating, his words about Elen’s own tribe not entirely made of some kind of small talk.

He believed… in God? God was the creator of that tiny gray fish that crawled out of the sea even with all of its future double standards and created societal mannerisms. He remembered looking into the orbiting flow of colors that comprised his brother who said the now infamous line that stuck with him for all of these years. How could something so small become so dangerous from century to century, finding new ways to kill one another? They certainly had a better grasp on freedom than his brothers and sisters but the vessel-enclosed ones were probably learning this exact same thing at this moment. But wasn’t this hope also faith in the lesson being learned? Perhaps it was better to believe in a vague sense of faith for now.

Today the bench was white and a hard type of plastic as he sat closer to the empty playground. Naturally there were no children at this hour as they were currently being educated but the vacant toys were still fascinating. Slides jutted out from the tops of plastic bricked towers, a swinging bridge, the swing set, the monkey bars. His head tilted curiously staring at these mounted plastic pipes. It was understandably named in honoring the humans’ ancestors, but it wasn’t just monkeys who alter themselves in strange shapes upside down! What about koala bars? Orangutan bars?

“ _ _Sut mae, dieithryn. [[5](%E2%80%9C#note5%E2%80%9D)]__” interrupted his thoughts feeling a weight on the other side of the bench. The air surrounding her radiated a gentle scent of sweat and soil as a green purse dropped into the space between them. Looking over, that animation he somehow attained during their last conversation brought the gaze back to the obstacle course with an elaborate sigh.

“You’re not here.”

“Well then, it’s not the first time you’ve had hallucinations.”

Without looking back to her, a gentle scoff easily huffed off the back of his throat. Her own laughing irises were vividly hazel today with a golden glow pouring out from behind them. Perhaps he needed to stop being so distracted by the colors and begin to look within her pupils, although it was that exact same thought along with the profound bond that brought about his closeness with the older Winchester brother.

“I got the afternoon off, so I just got my gardening done and just didn’t feel like writing. Thought I might go get some coffee. You?”

“Part time job training and I wasn’t even given a bribery sandwich.”

“You make the nuclear American work ethic proud.”

 A smile than a laugh tickled the lips this time around, looking back at her. She was grinning right back with an odd glow springing off of her face. Elen looked very peaceful wearing a bright yellow shirt and jeans with black laced boots hiding half of her shins. A sharp breath inhaled from the other side of the bench as her hair, looking far brighter than just days before, tilted down a yellow dressed shoulder. “I think I like both of our meeting places here,” a sly grin was inching up one side of her mouth as she quickly took off her boots and socks, “but this one has a few more advantages.” Those familiar naked feet went straight for the attached swing set, kicking sand up with her heels. “I haven’t swung in forever although I might regret this.” Elen concluded giggling, sitting on the arched material still grinning towards him. Then nodding towards the other swing beside her, “You know you want to. At least there’s no kids around to judge us old folk.”

“You make age a relative thing” was the first thing out of his throat as shoes gently kicked through the sand over to the swing beside her. How was he doing this right now?

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really compare to your dog years. Most people presume me to be five years younger than I really am, so I’ll just thank my genes and SPF moisturizer for that.”

“You’ve been in my thoughts--” bright hair cascaded down her back from the gravity of laughter. Maybe there was no easy way to change the subject, watching the tips of her toes dig into the sand to only take off into the air, little pieces of grain flying off of that rose gold color on her toenails. Unknowing if she could hear him from the height, he spoke a little louder “I-I mean your __question__  has been in my thoughts.”

“To believe or believ _ _ed__.”

“This time I don’t know what to parrot.” Elen’s rocking back and forth on this children’s toy slowed down, scuffling her feet through the sand all over again. Her posture was perhaps a little too straight as it shivered violently. Was this that medical concern all over again? The palms quite instinctively held onto the plastic chains on either side of him. “I-I would hate to be an inconvenience on your schedule--”

“But you’re interesting and you look like you need to talk somewhere that doesn’t begin and end with a stiff couch and people who want to shove pills down your throat for something that may be a little more situational,” her head leaned against the opposite strand of chains curiously wincing at him, “How does that work when you’re just vesseled and not human? Does any kind of medication affect you as being attached or the mortal that is just tucked towards the back of their mind? You know thoughts like this would make awful literature.”   

He had never heard a human muse this before, but then those who were brought into the folds of the Apocalypse and Leviathan were always far more focused on the peril that laid ahead. Despite all the abandoned emotions within his nerves, perhaps there was a few good things about being human besides food. Would he ever make attachments as pure as these as an angel?

“I would hate to have brought up a can of worms--”

“No, no, it’s just been a long time coming to really put words to what I have been feeling for so long,” he slowly nodded, feeling relief trickle over the shoulders for the first time since that Saturday. It felt good yet strange to talk like this as his eyebrows effortlessly rose, “It reaches even further back before these past five years watching over God’s people slowly feeling something out of place within me. I suppose I have been restless for the longest time,” an exhale blew out as defeat quickly took relief’s place against his shoulders, “Can someone feel restless for so long and yet feel a sense of faith?” The gravity of the question dropped both his hands and gaze to a denim clad lap, the orange and brown hem of his shirt out of the corner of the eye.

“Did Joan of Arc or Martin Luther?”

Somehow a smile lifted from this, looking directly into her pupils this time. The question was earnest as was the friendliness in the peaceful dark of her eyes. “But I--” unexpectedly came out without his mind’s consent before looking down into the matrix of sand. “I never wanted to be a ruler or leader of any kind, I learned my lesson with the Leviathan. I--” looking up, there was a sweet honesty in those pupils all over again and the gaze could only retreat into the sand all over again, “I did not like feeling out of control of my own mind and yet I took a leap of faith with Metatron in attempting to close the gates of heaven. He was right either way, I did fail--”

“But did you really?” Looking up, those pupils were thoughtful yet smiling as fingertips traced the chains on either side of her, “Failing is a part of a leap of faith, but you already knew that. Life is,” slowly slurred out from her looking away just as philosophical as before, “rarely streamlined like that though. So you were fed up enough,” a hand sliced into the air in front of her, “to trust a fellow older angel,” that same hand gestured the same as before, “and was convinced by his knowledge. I-it’s all blameless! Oh, and by the way Metatron?!” Her returning gaze was winced and effortlessly mocked, “That’s an awful name for an angel, were all the good Latin or Abrahamic names taken?”

Laughter had never felt more cathartic as it trembled loud against his eardrums as the head tipped back. The wryness in her voice did it for him as the hands came back to the chains. Simply leaning back and shaking his head with a smile still against the lips, a “thank you” fell effortlessly right out of him. “The last thing I laughed at that hard was watching a cartoon deer attempting to ice skate.”

“Oh Goddess,” it was hard to not be surprised at the swearing proclamation as his eyes suddenly winced in surprise back towards her. Elen had been delicately swaying her body weight closer to the ground. “I don’t know you that well, but, the fact you would laugh so hard at that just makes so much sense about you. OK, Dudley the angel,[[6](%E2%80%9C#note6%E2%80%9D)]” she slurred, getting off of the swing and walking behind him. His eyes winced in confusion for her sudden absence and the angelic reference. What happened to Clarence? “If I start singing “A Whole New World” by the time I get back on this swing, don’t judge me.” fingertips tapped against the shoulder blades then palms softly pushed his body weight further forward. His feet gave into the release and the whole lower half of the body naturally pumped in the air, having watched children do this so often. It did not help the sudden hunger, but the lightness felt wonderful and raised goosebumps on his naked wrists.

He didn’t judge. Her singing was beautiful and sounded even more wistful against the air created between the two of them. Midway through the song, Elen immediately explained that the little girl who grew up to be this incarnation of herself would sing this song while swinging during recess. There was something in “the way it hollowed through my body--I think that’s when I first felt this otherworldly iciness in my bones. Whether it was my paranormal abilities or the sensations I get in nature, I’ll never know, but, it connects me.”

“You have a more active faith than I do.”

“Castiel, don’t sell yourself short,” her swinging began to slow down all over again. It was nice to hear someone use his real name and especially the way she said it. Kah-stee-ell. The “l” at the end had a certain strange flip to it. Every time Elen said it, something like a smile couldn’t help but lift watching her pupils momentarily flex. “You believe in a great maker of this earth despite abandonment issues. That’s what great faith is even when you’re upset with whatever maker you may or may no _ _t believe in__. You don’t have to be Christian or Pagan to at least identify that.”

“I think for now believing in an abstract faith is all I can afford.”

“That sounds advisable yet dangerous,” Elen swayed back into a neutral rhythm smiling a grim smile. The color on it was just as shimmering as her nails as index fingers stuck themselves between the large multicolored chains. “If a person keeps their beliefs ambiguous, they are more impressionable by their surroundings and human made surroundings are just as polarizing as the people.”

“Who are you?” couldn’t help but fly right out of the mouth. Perhaps he never spoke to many people like Elen, if there even were any, but she was full of a different kind of wisdom he had never experienced before. But that red hair fell down her back all over again, laughing just as loudly.

“I’m your new best friend Elen, hi!” and a quick wave of her hand warranted a chuckle looking away from her mocking gaze. The sensation against his shoulders felt a little less defeated than before. She was not wrong, but he couldn’t help but hope that the environment she created around him would rub off to some capacity. “Well,” she softly slurred, “I guess the real question is __what__  do you want to believe?”

“Or what can I afford to believe in?”

“To believe versus believing in.”

The tongue grazed over his bottom lip, hoping that he could at least answer the original question without aggravating over it days after the fact. Looking at particularly nothing ahead of him and allowing the mind to flow between the lips, “I would want to continue believing in the Winchesters. They are good men who are saving the world in ways most people can’t see. That’s what I like to think heroes really are. But right now,” longer strands of hair swooped across his forehead as they shook from side to side, “every time I think about the two friends I’ve ever really had, all I can see is Dean telling me that I had to leave the bunker and i--” the hands escaped their respective chains and wiped his mouth then grabbing the back of the neck.

“It hurts.”

“Yes,” but as much as he wanted to look up to the woman who was named after a Welsh Goddess, something wet was beginning to slide down both sides of the nose. His thumb and an index finger remedied this before looking back up to the ends of her lips simply turning upwards. “I think I would want to still believe in them, but when it comes to the ways of heaven and angels, I-I just don’t know.”

“And your God?”

“I know he exists, I know he created the earth and every headquarter in heaven. He created everything I’ve ever known but I have watched every superior make their own rules in his name. To believe in God is to also believe in his angels as an extension--”

“So agnostically faithful then,” the use of religious labels made him grin looking back at her feeling somewhat disheartened in using human identification. But that was what he was now, if he needed the identity, intent on creating some ridiculous story for Metatron’s amusement. Elen’s comment on his name made his smile slide a little wider in the memory. “I don’t think you have to have a divine relationship with all of what your God entails. Are angel beliefs so different than humans when they create their own rules in his name? Isn’t that a divine relationship even if a more vile and publicized one?”

The momentarily smiling lips actually parted completely speechless watching her rub her legs.

“Yeah, my thighs are already feeling it,” she laughed as he remained dumbstruck, leaning over her legs and stretching the lower back, groaning “I can’t do this as long as I used to.” Elen’s smile was far more thoughtful as she sat back up on this rubber material, immediately observing that she was “going to guess you have never been on a swing before.”

“I find myself a quick visual learner. I have watched many children amuse themselves.”

There was a sweet smile in her gaze all over again, but as it traveled over to her purse that still remained on the bench, one side inched up a little further. A sigh breathed out, “Well, I guess that’s the moral of today’s story,” that smile looked peaceful looking back to him, “amuse yourself like a child. Use your intuition and have a idea of what you want but always remain present.” She was delicately swaying on the swing all over again as a wince took over those glowing hazel irises, “It looks like you have nothing to do for the rest of the day, you want to get some coffee?”

 


	3. "Real Adult Coffee"

How he received a text message almost a week after the time they shared at Elen’s place of employment? “You and I are doing real adult coffee. You’re driving. :)” The vibration of his phone in his pocket startled, the, his body to straighten even further, silently thankful he never took advantage of the convenient stool just inches away from him behind the register counter. People should not come into the Gas n Sip to find a relaxing employee. At least there were no said people there to experience this as he took his phone out, finding Elen’s message. It could not have come at a better time as an astrophysicist appeared on the television to explain “the” meteor shower “a few weeks ago.”

Human news seemed almost cyclical on this channel called CNN, the topic having already been discussed an hour ago with a priest with the promise of another religious figure later that day. Even if their information was false, the rest of their species deserved what they perceived as truth even if the astrological wonder, according to the scientist, somehow managed to pinch that invisible nick on his chin. Fascinating. Despite all of the failure and the sobering reality half played out on the television up in the corner, it was fascinating how the human body relives physical memories. But it seemed advisable, according to a woman named after a Welsh roads goddess, to not "consider pure hearted decisions to be failure in hindsight. Sometimes detaching has to be the only option.”

She was not wrong as an exhale almost shook itself into a shuddering sigh, choosing to adjust all the displays to an immaculate precision. But could he ever detach even with Dean somehow hovering above every choice and experience he made? It was Dean who helped bring out the humane salvation within him somewhere between what humans call street smarts and simply always being there when he could. Although now he wasn’t, for better or worse. He almost missed that vulnerable shade of dark green as a rough voice barked out desperate commands to save his fellow humans in one way or another.

After five years of having known the older Winchester brother, it was still difficult and yet not to read him. Dean did wear many of his emotions in the smallest ways, but pure helplessness was never allowed to take over an already dire situation. More often than not, Dean was the brother in control, the one who quite possibly led him into that demon trap in Bobby’s barn. Then weeks later, Jimmy’s vertebrae stood pin straight much like it had a few minutes ago hearing Dean’s gruff voice all around him in a prayer of “Castiel? Shit, this is stupid. Look, I don’t know of you can hear me, but. …” And there was the Righteous Man he saved from hell.

For so long he pretended that the experience in rising the Righteous Man out of hell did not feel just a little God-like, for once completely in control although in defiance towards his superiors. Perhaps it was the danger or the satisfaction, but as he sailed upwards with Dean under the hand he had morphed from his celestial body, it was impossible to not feel that quickly met gaze of fear, torture, and yet enjoyment run through him. It was vulnerability before he ever had a word and a feeling for the word and he enjoyed it. It was as if after watching so many centuries of true human benevolence, even him as an angel was finally able to experience it.

Perhaps he attempted to stare into Dean’s vulnerability too often. Even as he stared down black and slowly widening pupils in that demon trap of a barn, all he could do was hover over Jimmy’s eyesight and keeping them squarely on the human he saved. Dean’s awestruck fear surprised him which made that first prayer all the more surprising and the inner eyelids even had a strange liquid leaking from them. From that point, he wanted to know Dean Winchester even as the cracks in heaven were beginning to show.

Sometimes between orders from heaven and all of the archangels’ egos, he even looked into Dean’s dreams invisibly standing in an indiscriminate hotel room in an indiscriminate town as he slept. His dreams were either too sad or too inappropriate to view, Dean experiencing quick seconds of his time in hell, but with longer moments of all of the times his father shouted at him and the night his mother died. The hunter had lived such a sad life now seeing it all up close but somehow, over time, watching Dean’s true self became difficult to do. The lungs began to wildly contract, Jimmy’s breath suddenly inhaling and exhaling a little heavier than usual. But the warm penetrating feeling in the chest seemed to be completely his own, never really understanding why this would always happen.

It was popular knowledge the human translation of the “great tie” was commonly a result from when an angel offers more than just a message towards a human. Michael did defend the prophet Moshe’s[7]] dead body against Lucifer.[8] As stern as the archangel was, he looked lighter than usual looking over to this onlooker and fellow angel, quickly nodding before disappearing back into heaven. Amazement shot through the celestial cloud that was his previous body, finding a brother with his defenses relieved. It was not impossible to be effected by a surprisingly humane deed, having forgotten this until the moment liquid appeared on Jimmy’s face from that simple prayer.

But for it to have grown since then! If he had told the angel he was centuries ago that he wouldn’t be the same after committing a great tie, he wouldn’t possibly believe himself. He would have even recoiled at the thought of a human touching his eventual vessel enclosed self in the briefest of grabs of the back of his neck or a patted shoulder. Dean’s touch would also reverberate under the skin, into the muscles and would stay there for many minutes, the feeling was remarkably not too different than when simply being prayed to!Sometimes he even wondered if purposefully reaching out for the back of Dean’s neck or shoulder would be enough to sate the addictive quality of a vulnerable moment. But would it actually solve anything? Anything less than that first touch on Dean’s shoulder couldn’t possibly be enough for Dean to experience the comfort he gave him or even to soothe all of his inner demons!

The eyelashes flicked themselves against the upper cheek, this shock of movement not as surprising as the vibrating cell phone just minutes before. Looking down, his hands were adjusting stacks of chocolate bars within their package boxes and fingers jumped back to his sides as if they were being burned by some kind of hell fire. That was a level of meticulousness he had never reached before, going back around to the register counter and still resisting the stool.

“There still has not been any comment from the Vatican on the massive meteor shower three weeks ago, but at 5:00, we will have a comment from— “

There was a sensation to drop his head in his hands, but that was not really a thing to do while partaking in customer service. The bell above the door ringed and a family of four came in, walking straight back to the bathrooms. Even if the employment was different, so much had remained the same in being ostracized and disliked by a majority of heaven now on earth. There was still a separation between Dean and himself no matter the divide between species or Dean’s fascinating vulnerability. But Jimmy Novak’s body still remained his vessel, although steering it on his own as a human was the main difference with all of its occasional uncontrollable emotional and physical sensations overlapping with multiple other human processes.

A young five year old boy with blond hair was waddling up and down the candy aisle with a loud shriek of joy. Elen somehow saved him in his thoughts all over again in the memory of staying present like the young man, the lips unable to resist a quick movement like a smile towards the child. But to remain present also included the selfless choice of the television channel and the reality of what really happened “that” night of the meteor shower. And Dean. The Righteous Man who saved him as much as _he_ had saved _him_. Dean, whose every pop culture reference and cynicism managed to trickle into the makeup of this new Castiel but not the Steve presented on his name tag!

But the endearing smiley face in Elen’s text still waved in front of his mental vision and it would stay there for the rest of the day, if not only for a reminder to text her back. After all, it would be a disservice for Gas n Sip customers, like the mother to this brood who walked up to the counter with a portable package of vegetables, to be subjected to a distracted cashier. Whatever doing “real adult coffee” meant must have been like what he had experienced at the Cocoa Bean but in a different capacity. What was wrong with the coffee there?

 

*

  

How he received that very answer as he drove a borrowed car into Rexburg just minutes away? “The Cocoa Bean is really just dessert coffee, but if you go to any eateries or gas stations, then it’s just boring drip coffee with no interesting sweetening options or coffee specials,” a pointed finger bounced out of the corner of his eye and he could only sit in the driver’s seat amused at her. It was as endearing as her smiley face in the sent text.

“Coffee house coffee is the best coffee and that’s not just because I spent almost ten years of my life in a college town!” Her eyebrows almost disappeared up into the vibrantly colored hair on her forehead, grinning far more with mockingly widened eye lids. Looking back onto the road all over again, a “well” was groaned as she moved on the fake leather seat, “ _local_ coffee house coffee is the best coffee and a cathartic experience.” The way her “r”’s strangely rolled differently against her American accent was strange and yet soothing at the same time. But a minute later, a giggling voice proclaimed “holy alliteration, Batman!” as they finally entered Rexburg. Despite not knowing the reference but enjoying the way she spoke it, a quick grin couldn’t help itself.

But it was easy to understand what she meant by catharsis. The Rexburg Garden Café’s courtyard felt purifying as his first step exited the large wooden double doors. There were already fully grown trees among the metal chairs and tables, concrete cleverly surrounding them. Even newborn bushes were fencing in the perimeter as a breath quickly inhaled, immediately sensing flowers close by. This had to be as peaceful as sitting on that bench in the middle of nowhere, invisible for at least a moment then to somehow contribute in his angelic duty to the world around him. Sitting down and looking up to a dark blue umbrella then to the taupe colored coffee sitting in front of him on the table, this felt very close to that peace he once felt. Something even tingled somewhere in the unknown jungle of the human nervous system.

“It’s very much like you” easily shot out of his throat as eyes barely looked up over the tip of a plastic straw. “Urban yet full of nature at the same time.”

Somewhere in that jungle of a nervous system, a less peaceful nerve rang out. Looking over to the woman in the floral peach shirt, he only hoped the observation did her justice and that the compliment did something for her. The glossy effect on bright pink lips flexed, but her glowing hazel eyes had a far brighter smile. She somehow knew and he envied her.

“I,” and his throat swallowed without the sustenance of grounded coffee beans, the sound echoing in ears as he looked down to the brown and black tiles that composed this table top. “I wish I had that luxury, t-to really know who I am. I don’t even know who the human part of me, Steve, is supposed to be.”

“Just a supporter of the capitalist work week” that voice wryly mocked as that copper wave that framed her petite face and half of her turquoise glasses nodded decidedly.

The throat couldn’t help but chuckle, echoing against the recently sipped cold coffee. With the temperature difference and with milk, although a different flavored milk, it tasted sweet and different and yet wonderful all at once. Curious to understand Elen’s coffee order, he only nodded to the barista with a “same.” With its first sip in these peaceful surroundings, now it was impossible to not understand the catharsis of this strange exercise of “real adult coffee.” His gaze even stayed on the plastic container with a lid and straw as it slowly sat down on the table to only find her pupils calm and yet attentive all at once.

“And yet building Steve would be no different than carrying out Metatron’s threat.” Thankfully now, considering the jab at the angel’s name on the swing set, a smile couldn’t help itself at the memory. Pulling away from those pupils which started to draw him in willingly, the colorful hazel and gold and green patchwork of the irises had to be retreated into. It was too soon to be sucked in and yet he was already effortlessly talking about himself again. “Either way I would end up building a story--”

“--and rebelling would be far too petulant and yet obeying would admit submission. Trust me, I know that feeling, far, _far_ too well,” the eyelids widened around their individual irises in their differing shades. That wave of hair soberly nodded this time and the colors of her eyes retreated down towards her own coffee, gently shaking the container where it sat. Ice clinked in the sudden quiet which only led his own cool plastic to be taken into his palm, repeating that same gesture against his own. Looking back up to a grinning Elen, the synchrony rose a half syllable of a giggle from the back of her throat.

“You should really tell me what brings you to say those cryptic phrases of yours.”

“But then you wouldn’t look like you’re being reborn even further!” Eyelashes blinked her eyes wide all over again, the tips of copper hair further down against the blue and yellow print of her odd shirt. A scoff barely morphed into a chuckle, taking the straw between the lips discovering a small group of people at a larger version of their table out of the corner of his eye. The sudden fleeting exhale out of the throat echoed the taste, enjoying the sweetness of something called soy milk against the roasted flavor of its coffee beans. In the five years encased in Jimmy, black coffee was always taken, but he surprisingly liked this. Perhaps it was Steve that enjoyed this, feeling his back meet the metal frame of his chair.

It was nice to be within this peaceful quiet all over again, although without a park bench and with a second party at the end of this table. God made an astounding planet for this envied race. Even in his angelic state, there was a quiet appreciation for the silence of nature and the chattering of its animals. At this moment, two robins were tweeting back and forth at the top of a tree behind Elen. Although being human seemed punishment most of the time and the nonstop chatter of angelic chaos in the mind, it was so nice to fully hear the songs of birds again. It was the best sound God created for this planet. Another inhale conjured the scent of coffee on the back of his throat and yet he could still smell the scent of flowers, following it to two large concrete urns on either side of the double doors filled with multicolored flowers.

Somehow it was easier to believe this business and the not-Welsh roads Goddess alike in the balance of the urban and natural. Even she was undaunted by the silence as eyelids were half closed and mouthing the words to some song playing from inside the double doors. The music was easily sensed between the occasional shouts of coffee orders and the low hum of multiple conversations talking over one another.

“I do understand what you’re feeling though” cut through the perfect silence, looking over to the woman whose wide floral and striped sleeve drooped toward an elbow as her small chin rested against a palm.

Elen had stopped engaging in the music from inside of the café and now looked almost concerned. From this angle she looked even younger in the age he still could not pin point. But as pupils gazed over her multicolored frames, the back of the throat hummed before an “I _will_ say that I have rebirthed myself at least twice in this lifetime, but I have to imagine yours is far more difficult for—“ and with that, that palm released her chin and began to undulate in mid-air with the other, “Just for not having the words to make sense of what you’re feeling and even what you have felt. It’s one thing to recreate yourself but another to generate a new vocabulary for this new person you have become.”

“And to know two languages, Enochian and yours, and yet neither of them barely generate the exact words as to how I feel.”

“That’s why God invented German.”

The wry intonation of her voice brought a chuckle to his throat. Although still tasting its flavor in the mouth, it was impossible to not notice how the odd milk turned both coffee orders from a dark brown to a tanned color. A grin randomly cocked to one side of his lips, lifting the cheek muscle higher, “After having watched your kind for so long, I understand what it means to be motivated through extreme emotion and personal belief.”

“And yet I cannot do this for myself, I cannot find the motivation through being punished with humanity. The very attempt to recreate words and definitions just doesn’t,” an exhale breathed out between syllables, discovering a hand wiping down his mouth, “I-it just doesn’t feel right. I have dealt with such intense experiences as an angel. My growing compassion for humans and the Winchesters would have killed me just as easily as the Leviathan _should_ have. And now running the risk of being killed by any of my angry brothers and sisters while existing fully in this vessel wanting to believe it a rebirth, it just,” the eyebrows furrowed, feeling longer strands of hair brush against his forehead as it shook, “None of it feels right and I can feel everything.”

“I never realized how much humans contend with inside of the body which makes sense why it was an appropriate punishment for Metatron to carry out. I can feel it all, the emotions against the nerves against the mind clanging against the inability to speak then to crash from waves of loud activity like that to complete nothing. I don’t enjoy it. I hate feeling a million different thoughts and the, my, body.” Somehow the face ran hot in the sudden verbal mix-up. That had never happened before and it could not have occurred in front of a better person as a sad smile slowly grew on Elen’s face. Even through the embarrassment, eyes effortlessly winced in a fleeting thought, “I used to hover over the vessel’s senses so being overwhelmed used to be easier. I only felt it in my true body and yet I might have hurt Jimmy’s interior without ever knowing it, but that is the price a vessel must pay.”

The black and brown tiles of the table underneath the plastic container of his coffee looked sharper fully averting downwards towards the artistry. It was as if these pieces of marble were attached to an existing table top, the dimensions suddenly as sharp and acute as its color. This was a strange way to become suddenly calm as the, his, body slowly stopped reverberating although no touch made it happen. Dean’s hand wasn’t on his shoulder or the back of his neck as a gentle “and now…” interrupted his thoughts.

That gaze seemed barely effected in its constant sad yet understanding smile and slightly upturned lips. Somehow a breath expelled all on its own, not even realizing he was holding it as a quiet gasp inhaled in the mortal difference. “Well,” managed to scratch its way outward, but a sip of coffee remedied his throat then setting the cool wet plastic container back on the hypnotic table. “I’m not detached like I was until using Jimmy’s body while he is in his own personal paradise in heaven.”

He never realized how bad that sounded watching Elen wrinkle her nose complete with fluttering eyelashes.

“Angels should not use a vessel so often, but Jimmy was so willing, so faithful. I found it honorable at how good of a servant he was to God. But in essentially having my own personal vessel, it’s just so—“ a breath contracted the lungs and echoed a stronger sigh up through his windpipe, its intensity dropping him against the back of the chair all over again. “It’s all so overwhelming so feeling failure on top of it all, I can’t help but wonder if this is better or worse than having the Leviathan inside of me.”

“Probably better since you’re not alienating your friends.”

“Or worse because I never expected to live through it,” the forehead gently shook in its slight decline, watching the coffee container sweat against the warm temperature of that day. “I should have died in that river” and however resolute his tone of voice was, it came out softer than expected. The throat immediately coughed in a surprising reflex looking up to the woman in the floral shirt. “I was _ready_ to die in that river after what I had done. But much like after Lucifer and Michael fell into the pit, somehow I was brought back for some reason.”

“And to come out of a river almost rebirthed from the experience into some kind of holistic healer,” another one of Elen’s “r”’s flipped backwards in that strange ability all over again. She seemed undaunted by this as a smile slowly grew across her face, the pupils small in that usual understanding nature. Eyelids flickered over them quickly as she leaned towards her crossed and wildly printed sleeves, “I like that, it’s poetic.”

“Holistic?”

“Like an alternative health practitioner.”

“Oh” and a wince couldn’t be helped, momentarily narrowing his vision of the redheaded woman named after a Goddess. “I have heard of the word in passing, but to tell you the truth,” gently rumbled outwards as bare forearms met the coolness of table tiles, fingers instinctually folding between one another. “I just had no memory of any of it being my angel powers. It just came naturally and I laid my hands on people in curing whatever ailed them. I never thought of it as being holistic or anything like an alternative medicine.”

“Like _literal_ angel Reiki.[9]"

"Reiki," he repeated, curious to google this word later. His eyelids couldn’t help but quickly blink and in that span of time quickly remembered that short time as Emmanuel. It was fascinating how memories could accumulate in a single second like that and right there was Daphne’s copper colored hair, their little house, how they were considering adopting a dog in the coming week. There was the elderly blind woman who he helped cross the street, her sight having been cured once on the other side. Those thin lips even kissed his cheek as he was rendered confused, feeling something like a bolt of lightning through the back of his stomach. In hindsight, it felt faintly like guilt.

“I do remember feeling as if I was finally doing something with a part of me I couldn’t quite remember. I actually felt accomplishment,” the back of the neck prickled as it straightened upwards, averting his gaze from the sweating plastic container to that calm smile sipping more of her coffee, “I felt like I was finally enacting a kind of compassion I always felt for humankind. But I actually did enjoy helping people.” Eyebrows were high on his forehead by the time he finished talking, the eyelids completely widened.

Even a sudden exhale felt much lighter than it had in recent weeks, feeling a hefty weight off of his shoulders the more he spoke. This was a fascinating human trait as he sat back in his chair, quietly observing the tree where chattering robins had just been singing minutes before, his head cocking to one side in the sudden observation. “I felt like I did when rebuilding Dean, but with him, it was,” that lighter exhale expelled from the somewhat lighter chest. Those longer hairs swept across his forehead in the attempt to come up with a better word in either English or his native Enochian. A hand finally wiped these frustrating strands into the rest of Jimmy’s, his, hair. “I-it was different.”

“He was your first.”

There was a light in those complexly colored irises that shone a little greener on the left and more hazel in the other. But before his throat could even confirm this, those eyes closed in front of him as she took another sip of her coffee, slowly setting the container back down. A strange exhale then an equally odd shudder shook the cut out portions at the top of her sleeves discovering that odd medical disorder all over again. Perhaps it was not as strange to her, carefully watching eyelashes blink open, that strange glow even brighter against each iris. A shallower exhale almost chuckled as a robin began to tweet all over again, watching one side of her mouth tilt upwards in a grin.

“You talk a lot about him, Dean. You must be very close friends,”

“In more recent years, he has regarded me like family, but—“

“It only makes the whole recent eviction thing worse.”

“Yes” breathed outwards, finding fascination with the alternating black and brown grains within the tile. The memory still hurt although being a few weeks old, but it was the churning dark green of Dean’s irises desperate to say something that possibly hurt even more than the rejection. He was not so much that christened “baby in a trench coat” gullible to a serious moment when a human’s eyes said something far more than what they admitted to. A gentle cough took place of a sigh, looking up from the table’s interesting pattern.

“It is strange that until now, the Winchester brothers have never let me down, yet the family I _was_ created from would think me a failure to them and _lost_. Lost,” his fingers pressed between one another, hearing himself repeat Hester’s claim, the syllables cringing something deeper inside of the nerves. “Apparently when I rose the Righteous Man from perdition, I was lost. My brothers and sisters have always attempted to know me, never once thinking that perhaps after having spent so many centuries on earth, even an angel could change.”

“I watched your kind, your ancestors,” and at that simple word, tears flooded the inside of differently colored irises, but there was a bright smile on her lips. Now this was far more fascinating as eyes effortlessly winced at Elen’s sudden emotion, knuckles brushing against the coolness of the coffee in front of his hands. “I didn’t think much of anything except for my duty to watch over mankind and whatever orders I was given from my superiors. Yet there were those moments of the greatest kindness and warmth that only humans can provide, but at the same time all of the wars and the genocide. I felt something within those benevolent moments and wanted to so desperately know that someone else was feeling what I felt. I even tried to see the signs in Uriel and my fellow officers, but I did not know what to look for, but free will does not come to angels easily. I managed to hide it for so long.”

“The blind and ignorant scare me far more than apocalypses and anything in your Christian hell.”

A side of the lips couldn’t help but cock in a half grin, knowing only this woman across from this hypnotic table could only say something like that. The angelic part of him almost didn’t believe her as she lifted the plastic straw to her mouth. “But the Winchesters slowly got through to that part of me that I managed to keep quiet, continuing to put words to feelings that were there but never acknowledged. I know I have become a better person because of it but at the same ti—“

“But writing Dean in your best friends forever book over and over isn’t the first thing on your mind when you wake up in the morning?”

“Basically” and the wryness in her voice shook laughter between every syllable. The sleek plastic container was taken into Jimmy’s dominant hand, observing the beads of water sliding down onto the cluster of tiles underneath. Even with that quickest movement, that lightness still seemed to exhale against his shoulder and exhaled down towards a heaving chest. Could breath itself possibly be cleansed in this weightlessness? Now this human feat felt equally wonderful and yet terrifying all at once, as if it could be taken away from him at any moment.

But the sudden affectionate roll of Elen’s pupils and a lift of her eyebrow looked both charming and acidic all at once as she held her half-drunk coffee container. A sudden burst of laughter from that small group of people sounded through this cathartic courtyard, its collective vibration a warm sound against usually acute eardrums. This had to be what it meant to have a cathartic experience through a coffee house and it was not too different than all of the times Dean offered him a beer in the hopes of getting him to confide something. An offering for an offering yet she asked for no great thing except for a ride into and out of Rexburg.

One of those noisy robins chirped once, twice and then flew from the tree and the other followed into the bright afternoon sky. If it were not for the people behind Elen or the small business meeting not too far away from his side of the table, this would have been ultimate peace. But like the collective hum of conversation within the café, which continued beyond those concrete urns and double doors, they all turned into a sound all of their own. Even the soft music continued as that hand reached out for his coffee all over again.

“It, it’s strange to say these things out loud” and the eyelids quickly blinked at the unexpected volume of his voice, half expecting for it to be softer with all of the people surrounding them. But his coffee was sipped in its slightly watery state, the wet container sitting back down on the table with a soft plop. “I wanted to ask Dean so many questions about what I was beginning to feel, what it was he felt in hell, if he still felt any of it, if he could explain in words what I saw in him when I touched his shoulder or when I looked into his dreams. I thought maybe the reason for the sudden need was just because of the profound bond, but here I am asking them, telling them, to you—“

Her peach colored sleeves crossed on top of the table all over again, grinning that calm and understanding smile against the fading bright pink color on her mouth. A nerve gently rattled somewhere in that web of the more human nervous system, knowing that the topic of Dean would at last be unleashed. It could no longer be restrained since Dean was at the root of everything he developed into over the past five years whether he liked it or not.

“I-I used to wonder what it would be like to ask Dean what it was that Jimmy was feeling that almost clutched onto my being when I charged the both of us into less than desirable situations. I did wonder how he would take my asking about his time in hell or why having faith seemed to be a great thing to ask of him.” A sigh unashamedly trembled from the throat looking into the colorful glowing masses of those irises. He must have sounded crazy to her. But somehow words that always wanted to be spoken continued to tumble out of him.

“I saw too much in those eyes before I rose the Righteous Man from perdition and they seemed to shatter something within _me_ not entirely compliant to the ways of heaven. The torment, that blinding vulnerability between the fear and the frightening enjoyment. And I just didn’t feel I had the right to ask too much and overwhelm an easily uncomfortable man when it came to talking about anything other than the ways of heaven or hell. I saw how he reacted when I told him to have faith, but it did not take long to realize that human men do not allow themselves to address their vulnerability. And yet there was always something in the way that Dean looked at me that seemed to reach out—“

“Ah, alpha male emotional repression, the thing that makes the best smutty fan fiction--”

“What?”

“What? Oh, forget it.” But she was not forgetting what was randomly said as that copper wave shook against her face all over again. Lips were even bitten together mysteriously and her coffee was gently shook against the table, ice cubes naturally clinking together in its sudden movement. “Do you feel all of those questions are now out in the open now?”

“It might be a little too late to actually _ask_ them,” his lips shocked the nerves inside of the body as they slowly slid up so slowly and randomly. It felt nice and yet strange. “But I’m glad they have actually left my throat. I have suffered with them for so long while they adapted to every experience I have had on earth in this vessel. Although…”

It was one thing to charge thoughtlessly into a life altering decision and yet another as words fell out of him without rehearsing them. Nerves continued to jump even after speaking and in the invisible action, that lightness against the shoulders and chest somehow managed to move. Tears almost naturally fell from their pockets as the tip of his straw became fascinating all over again as he practically glared into it to restrain that usual liquid from the inside of his eyes.

“Although in this human state, I do understand Dean’s sense of unworthiness, how hard and ruthless this world can be and yet in my quietest moments, I still feel nostalgia to feel what I felt in discovering all that was Dean. I knew him enough as I rebuilt him, but to watch him—“ an unexpected exhale shuddered in its low volume, feeling something equally shiver across his chest. “To watch him make sense of the world around him for a second time with all of the abuse and neglect in his past, it was fascinating. Over time, I started to feel this overwhelming pain in my chest while I was, well, as Dean would word it, being stalker-y and watching his dreams or being in my invisible visage and watching him pray to me.”

The strange shaking finally subsided, realizing the last of his words. Quickly straightening his posture upwards to completely meet an even sadder look in those pupils as they momentarily flexed within focus, “N-not for the actual praying or position of power, of course.”

“Of course” was parroted back to him this time, the “r” a breathy roll to the back of her throat.

“But there was something in watching him unravel. It was fascinating in what little firsthand knowledge I had when it came to human motivation. Over time it just became routine but it did not stop this aching in my chest,” Elen’s eyebrows leaned down towards the tops of her dark glasses, her lips gently puckering as the eyes took back in every inch of her small rounded face. Confused by her sudden reaction and looking down into the peaceful tiles underneath his coffee, “Finally gaining empathy of everything he had gone through in his life. His parents dying, having to give up the love of his life and her son, how everyone he cares about ends up dying a-and yet he charges forth.”

Eyelashes blinked, discovering a wet discharge at the corners of his eyes. It did not fall onto his face, but it still was there even as he looked directly down into the matrix of black and brown tiles with the moisture of a coffee container not too far away from the vision. A sigh immediately fell from the light chest, now somewhat taut in this oddness that he was feeling. These more ambiguous emotions like this were hard to word, with no words in even Enochian capable to describe this impossible emotion. Before he had realized it, a hand reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and to wipe these tears all at the same time.

But these were tears of a different kind, they were not like the ones he found on his face as he was falling asleep while thinking of his fallen brothers and sisters or his stolen grace. They were not even close to the tears he shed for himself the first few nights by himself, hurt and alone from Dean kicking him out. But he never wanted to think about those first few days on his own as his eyes finally closed in a quick moment of refusal as something extremely hot pressed against the inside of a bent elbow. With a quick sniff and with eyelids opening to look down at the sensation, there was a hand touching his arm complete with peach colored nail polish and a diamond shaped ring filled with circles on its ring finger.

“I took your questions to Dean away from him.”

“No,” his arm laid back down on the table, avoiding the water stains, “I wanted you to have them” and he didn’t realize how much as that hand simultaneously retreated to her side of the table, grabbing her coffee container and giving it a quick shake.

Elen was slowly grinning a little brighter the longer ice cubes loudly clinked against one another. It was practically contagious as a smile slid up his own mouth, never having appreciated her presence more than at this very moment. What would have happened if he never went up to the strange woman who was, as Elen put it, meditating underneath an oak tree? The pupils even stayed on hers as ice cubes finished their song and raising the straw to her mouth.

“Why do you do that?” at last shot outwards curiously, longer hairs from his hairline tickling the tops of earlobes for a quick second as his head naturally tilted. “Shake your coffee like that?”

“Those who can’t straight coffee must make sure it never separates while you drink it.” The wavy ends of her hair elaborately nodded down towards the floral pattern of her shirt, quickly sipping the clutched coffee. “But as to what we were talking about before, _diolch_ , I mean, um, thank you” and her eyelashes at last finished blinking across the lenses of glasses which teased a turquoise color from behind the frames. “Thank you for letting me have those questions of yours although it _does_ look like it tortures you that this man you clearly care so much about will never hear them. Unrequited love is a bitch.”

Elen could have not sounded more like Dean than in that moment, watching her sit the coffee container back onto the table. A different kind of bird was chirping in a tree close by, but before he could distinguish its breed, “It’s not surprising that you would have found interest in the hunter like that,” the bare oval shaped cutouts at the top of her sleeves quickly lifted into a shrug as that colorful hair that hung above it quickly shook, “It just proves that people, and perhaps even angels, are most often fascinated with things they can’t or won’t experience for themselves. It’s bad enough that human communication can be so simple and yet so difficult, but for you to know everything and yet watch him react to it all without a single question, he will never open up. But if a friend for five years hasn’t even once started the conversation with or without prompt…”

“I am aware” and yet somehow he wasn’t all at the same time.

There was as much irreparable damage on his part when it came to his friendship with the Winchester brother. The Leviathan power did prompt him to beat Dean to a bloodied pulp then finally giving into death walking into that river not even caring what he thought of him. Somehow he was fine with just that half spoken statement, but the eyes slowly closed, a thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose.

If it took so many years for Dean to unexpectedly consider him a part of the Winchester family, how long would it take for something honest to come out of his mouth that didn’t begin and end between a symphony of grunts and “uhs?” But that was how Dean communicated until a moment of great peril and all of his usual awkwardness disintegrated with something far more emotional and perhaps even dangerous. He allowed it, never really pushing this friend and family member to be anything different, but always wished the Winchester could gain a little more tact and yet it was that same tact that influenced him for so long.

“It could be worse” was the first thing he heard then the clinking of ice cubes all over again. But as fingers released his nose and drawing it back down onto the table, it was _his_ coffee being mixed. A chuckle couldn’t help itself as Elen released the plastic cup back down against the brown and black tiles, “You could be as open and honest and fascinate many people, but the people you naturally gravitate to won’t even attempt to become friends in your direction or at least try.”

“Is that you?” and wincing eyelids couldn’t help but shoot right out of him.

“Maybe,” she teased as her irises shone a little greener. But as he picked up his coffee, Elen was grinning brightly all over again as if the prior sobering look on her face and everything she said before didn’t even happen. The eyelids felt a need to weigh downwards in wanting to understand her like how he initially wanted to understand Dean. Clearly he always did the opposite of what he really wanted to do as his lips encircled the plastic straw. “But people _are_ generally awful” was softly slurred outwards, her own head tilted as her long copper hair gently nodded.

“You have little hope for your kind.”

“What kind is that? I am a magical unicorn in a world full of goldfish.”

Whether it was her wry delivery with the strange way she rolled her “r”’s or the animals in question, laughing had never felt so good. With this, all of the conversation about Dean officially left his nerves and there was nothing but Elen’s grin, the chirping of unknown birds and the sounds of the people both inside and outside of the large double doors. A breath even caught the scent of lavender. Although it was only a week of knowing the woman who was named after a goddess, somehow he could tell when Elen was being sarcastic. It could not be entirely hidden as a playful than biting look winced her eyelids before saying anything, being much easier to spot than Dean’s natural cynicism.

“Let’s just say I’d be the first to light the match when the Apocalypse _really_ happens!” Instead of that teasingly good natured look, a bright smile not entirely made of cynicism or wryness strangely lit up her face and lips at the ominous statement.

“The apocalypse doesn’t really involve matches anyway, but with some of the seals broken and Lucifer in his cage, I heavily doubt it will happen again.”

“And which Winchester brother do I blame _that_ on?” He knew it a rhetorical question, but the sensation to respond was instinctually tickling his throat. A coffee flavored chuckle came out instead and Elen was grinning, quietly laughing along with him. Perhaps this was the kind of friend he needed before signs of the Apocalypse began to appear, not affected by any Winchesters but simply lost within his own morals.

“Technically that would be Dean although Sam was the first of them to die.”

“Of course it’s Dean,” she teased back, as those dark engulfing pupils rolled up towards the dark blue umbrella. He almost forgot it was even there as the surrounding courtyard proved far more interesting in its odd catharsis. “I already blame him for a great many things.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know I shouldn’t” slurred outward, adjusting the odd cut out at the top of her sleeve. That hand fell back onto the table encircling her coffee with a shrug. “But the more _you_ talk to _me_ , the more I would be receiving information about your friend from your already jaded perspective. That’s not going to bode too well on me in forming an opinion, since I like you and all…”

“You like me?”

“Of course I do! Do you know any other angels, ex-angels, who would take time to compliment another person’s spirituality and not being offended that it isn’t towards their God?”

“That is a strangely specific point” and a sudden flash of heat that would have felt like panic softly engulfed the muscles. This was strange as odd tears tickled the inside of his eyes. Being human with all of these processes really was annoying!

But Elen’s grin only remained warm even as the golden hazel tint in her irises slowly cooled off the more she spoke. “And as someone who likes you and sees your jaded perspective, the way you have described your friend and family doesn’t sound very healthy. I have dealt with serial liars like that and to suffer through their constant drama and issues can only be draining no matter how patient or good of a friend you are.”

This time, his eyelids couldn’t help but wince from a less habitual place as the lips folded inwards towards one another. Dean was definitely not his favorite person at the moment but he was still the one who heavily influenced most of his more earthbound choices. But between Elen’s half spoken statement and those green eyes turning darker as Dean insisted he leave the bunker for good, she was definitely not wrong to come to this conclusion. The last of his coffee was at last sipped, leaning back into the chair still smelling the lavender as robins began to tweet all over again, the two different kinds of bird calls sounding better than any of the music Dean insisted he listen to.

“I believe Dean is not as consummate of a liar you make him sound, but I’m not defending him. But he does have, as he would call, crappy judgment in the moment. There has always been honor at the root of what he does, even if it never feels incredibly right at first.”

“And yet you have a nostalgia in wanting to discover him all over again,” Elen leaned further against her crossed floral and striped sleeves, the excess fabric around her wrists falling against the darker and grainier colors of the table. “I understand that need, wanting to feel an internal affirmation of who you are against the person who is effecting you through your empathy like an inverted first impression or something. Like, who am _I_ because of _you_? Were you still expecting the Righteous Man all those times you stood in front of the legend that apparently is Dean Winchester?”

A deep breath closed his eyes. A bomb came whizzing out towards a building in Iraq as he overlooked the city and then out of the corner of his sight stood a messenger angel with the orders to “invade hell and retrieve the Righteous Man. When you receive him, you will give him over to the archangels.” He knew of the hunter Dean Winchester and that his usual desperation helped fulfill the seal, but his biological name just didn’t seem to matter once the rest of his regime grouped together and he repeated the order before finally descending. For the whole mission, Dean was simply the Righteous Man.

He remembered how something twitched inside of his celestial body as he found the Righteous Man in a windowed torture chamber. It was an awful sight between the broken seal sweating and clearly exhausted as well as the knife that raised against a screaming soul of a woman. But this was his job, his mission as he forced himself to look, but before the Righteous Man ever made an incision, the body had broken through the glass. Zooming in towards him with a part of his being transforming into a hand and completely ready to take the Righteous Man to heaven, he almost stopped. In that split second was his eyes as a little blue appeared in that sea of green filled with that torment and sadness and yet a sadistic joy all at once. The plans were officially changed as the mutated hand reached for him, grabbing his shoulder and continuing upwards at an even faster speed full of this new resolution. Someone with that look in their eyes should never work for his ego-driven brothers.

“Perhaps a little” came out surprisingly higher and softer than his usual angelic tone. It almost surprised him as eyelids blinked open and Elen could not have looked more concerned as her bright pink lips pinched together. “The first time I had interacted with him in Jimmy’s vessel, it was clear he did not understand his own worth. I did not know him well enough whether it was his own or if it came with what he did as the Righteous Man. Once I knew him better, it was always a mixture of the two things and there was always a sensation to absolve the burden from him. I might still hold onto a ridiculous hope that there is something I could do or say to alleviate Dean’s experience as the Righteous Man, if—“ a breath hissed out naturally, looking beyond the short hedges that bordered this courtyard off from the rest of Rexburg.

“If I could help him with _one_ thing that heavily weighs on him whether it is his past, being the Righteous Man, anything. But all the help I have offered in the past is knowledge of heaven and the occasional case I went on with them has been more—“ he gently slurred out his last word, attempting to come up with another with a simple shake of the head, but nothing was coming to him.

“Tactile? Tangible?”

“Tactile,” he repeated with a grin, feeling the weight of his words peel back to that lightness on his chest all over again. “But as far as I know he has put the experience behind him, but he will never talk about it and yet I am always ready to help him through anything.”

“I’m sorry what he has internally put you through” at last cut through the continuing songs of birds in the trees around him, a party of three people taking the table behind Elen. The body almost shifted in discomfort, worried if someone or some prior angel would overhear him. After all, he was technically in hiding. “But I get it. It’s easy to,” an exhale fell out of her lips before covering them up with another sip of her coffee, “It’s easy to see the good in people and you can talk with them, reason with the less shattered parts of them, offer them all the patience in the world, but it all comes down to _their_ personal relationships with _themselves_. Castiel,” a smile couldn’t help itself with the endearing pronunciation of his real name, “I’m afraid you and me are not too different. Welcome to the club.”

“What club?”

“The hypersensitive emotional doormats club. I’m not sure if we have t-shirts or cookies or anything like that though,” and once more that teasingly affectionate grin delved against her water glass, immediately leaning to one side of the chair. In pulling up that dark green purse into her lap, “Well, Roma Downey[10], I think I’m going to going to go get some food, my stomach feels like it’s about to sound a mating call or something.”

But as she stood up continuing to grin at him in that mocking wry way, there was a temptation to question the attachment of stomachs and mating calls. As lips parted, Elen merely shook her copper waves then tucking her hair behind one ear, “Don’t ask about that. I used to watch a lot of “Juno”[11] when I was in college.” That seemed to be the last and rather confusing word on that as she disappeared beyond the large wooden doors.

A breath heavily exhaled, almost propelling him backwards against the chair all over again. Now he had no choice but to believe a coffee house like this was indeed cathartic, but where did the business and the woman’s company begin and end? It seemed to almost overlap with the calm nature and the supportive grin that was slowly sustaining coffee. He enjoyed it and hoped there would be more of these instances in the future. Bare arms stretched across the hypnotic tabletop in a gentle stretch, feeling the lower back and shoulder blades gently crack.

T-shirts were strange as the forearms were completely available to the elements. Even a nerve would occasionally jump in looking down to them, observing moles and freckles that he had always associated with Jimmy in the shock that the flesh was actually and completely his. A rush of visible goosebumps on his arms almost pickled with that knowledge. He was thankful for the shirt, especially since the older woman at the Goodwill insisted he would look very handsome in the black polo shirt which was immediately bought especially for “adult coffee.”

What would Dean say to any of this? He could only imagine that “the lady at the Goodwill is closer to your age, buddy” with an assisting clap against his shoulder. But what about Elen? “Well, go Cass” and possibly some lewd advice with or without an allusion to “The Pizza Man.” He could only imagine how he would respond to that in this imaginary conversation, how a usual diplomacy would dip in favor towards Elen, that “the connection she and I have is entirely pure, Dean” and with that, there was not just one human body at that table that liked the other.

But that was Dean. Gruff and cynical on the outside but his vulnerability was always there in those eyes which managed to hold a power that could halt his original orders to hand him over to the archangels. Sometimes he swore Dean’s eye color even moved in more emotional moments whether it was choked back tears or an illusory effect all on their own. That usual weight associated to Dean hung from the now lighter shoulders and chest. For all the burden he had shed, Dean would always be a heaviness he could never shake considering the great tie which seemed to leave an imprint on himself as well.

How could someone miles away in the American Midwest somewhere have such a loud presence inside of him over here in Idaho? Anger wanted to tremble in the body, but what would that solve? Fingers could only reach towards the bridge of his nose, hearing the birds continue to converse with one another and lips couldn’t help but grin to themselves. These natural sounds were almost better than “Ramble On” or “Traveling Riverside Blues,” it was something that was completely his. Was there ever something that was entirely his?

It was easy to forget about himself when he was around the Winchesters and especially Dean. Angels were always to put duty to heaven first and human burdens second, so he did allow so much in their friendship never once truly wondering about his end of the great tie. It was all sincere but angelic selflessness!

What would he have told Dean in that abandoned house while waiting for Raphael as the Winchester was insistent on “getting him laid?” “Angels are not inclined towards those kinds of feelings, Dean, they only happen when we take a vessel and as for me, this is a serious assignment and I would rather talk about other things that I know for a fact would make you uncomfortable.” He could have asked about hell, Dean’s past, putting to rest something that would satisfy the gaping need to absolve him. Perhaps that was the night where it all went wrong. Although Dean’s protector, he could have continued to observe him from afar since that night, but the Winchesters just _had_ to be a key to some heavenly issues.

He even left his post multiple times during the war just to help with some of their cases! At first, he ranked every situation by severity but when Dean was especially insistent, he appeared without a single argument in mind. It did not help that in assisting earthly supernatural problems meant nothing when a third of a religious institution on earth was falling apart! And yet he allowed it! Gaining human benevolence turned out to be the easier thing, but when it came to his half of the great tie courtesy of the hunter Dean Winchester, this was far more painful than emotionally ostracizing himself from his brothers and sisters.

His fingers almost shook on either end of the bridge of the nose, hating every second he excused Dean for simply being Dean. It had to have been the great tie, the profound bond. But it was nothing like the peacefulness that practically lit up Michael’s own grace as he shed the vessel after that face off with Lucifer then disappearing into heaven. Even when he first used the phrase in explaining to Sam that he couldn’t contact him the way his older brother could, he had no idea it could hurt like this. Elen called it unrequited love, perhaps the thought and the tie could very well may be the same thing!

Yet without the older Winchester brother, who was he exactly? Clearly someone who preferred the natural sounds of birds and nature over Led Zeppelin, his lips momentarily quirking with the thought. He did learn so much from the man he rose from perdition and not only from what he attained from his mind and prayers. Dean truly introduced to him television, alcohol, and fortunately or unfortunately, the idea of sex. Perhaps he did not understand most of Dean’s references to pop culture or attaching meaning to his human idioms, but there was something honest and unspoken in those dark green eyes when he was at his most comfortable to make one of those references and he enjoyed that! But to have immersed himself within that unrequited love in observing and allowing Dean’s brash language and cynicism into Jimmy Novak’s vessel, how did he manage to lose parts of himself?

“Are you OK?” opened the eyelids although his fingers remained stagnant. From this fleshy shield, the bright floral of Elen’s shirt plopped back down into her seat while setting down two plastic glasses of water and a bowl which wafted a chocolaty scent. “I didn’t know if you wanted water or not, but I grabbed you one.”

“Thank you” lifted the eyebrows as his hand finally fell from the face, lightly holding the plastic cup by its rim and setting it beside the empty coffee container. “That was nice of you.”

“ _Croeso_!” [12]mysteriously fell from her lips and eyelids barely winced in the confusion of another language he did not understand. Elen was folding her lips inwards, looking down to a purple encased phone as her cheeks turned a slight pink. Pupils were even a little larger looking straight into their odd depth as her grin finally washed across her entire face. “OK, I cave” and with that, that darkness rolled in that teasing affection all over again as sight took in all of her slightly pinking and widely grinning face. “You’re never going to guess what happened to me just now! Are you sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine, really! What happened to you?”

“Someone,” those copper waves shook across the floral of her shirt all over again, now clearly smiling more than blushing as a hand picked up her phone, “Someone actually gave me their phone number! Well, wait,” and her bright irises quickly looked upwards,” someone gave me their phone number _and_ I didn’t even ask for it first! Maybe they should play my favorite bands on the radio here more often.”

“I don’t like how that seems to be a rarity for you.”

“Aw, you’re adorable!” and at this, a smile couldn’t help itself as Elen was looking back into his own pupils smiling just as sweetly. The moment didn’t last for long as peach colored fingernails helped assist in picking up a small round chocolate scented object from the bowl as it was pushed to the middle of the table. “But finding someone who makes great coffee and having an appreciation for Stars[13] is a damned miracle! Well, it’s a greater miracle for someone to actually interact—oh, go ahead,” her waves bounced in a quick nod towards the bowl as she chewed, “Chocolate covered blueberries, breakfast of champions and emotional doormats like ourselves!”

 

A hand reached for one of the blueberries, fascinated with the tiny size between his fingers and the inescapable welling of saliva at the scent of the chocolate. The juice from the fruit inside burst into his mouth, perfectly balanced with the dense sweetness. Now this he liked very much, taking slow bites, realizing the eyes were closed as he heard “do you need to be alone with your chocolate?”

“No need” and his eyes opened straight into Elen’s, watching her left iris shine a little brighter and greener. One of those understanding grins almost flexed against her mouth, possibly ready to ask if he was OK for a third time. “Why? Do I look like someone kicked my puppy?”

“And then that dream car of yours, yes, very much so.”

A chuckle immediately came out of the throat, thankful that something was teased towards his direction that he actually understood! Having already attained his driver’s license just that past week, it was only a matter of time and quite a few dollars to attain his “dream car” in the classifieds section. It did not hurt that it was also colored just like his old trench coat. A smile couldn’t help itself, amazed of something that would actually be his.

Now he understood the enthusiasm that humans often had for material items, something that was essentially his. He had few things in this new life, Jimmy’s suit and trench coat left in a Laundromat somewhere on the way to anywhere that had a help wanted sign. Maybe the air mattress was his, the few clothes, the blue work vest signed Steve, but these were barely personal but of something made of survival. There was hope he could care for the Continental like Dean had to the Impala, it was odd and yet honorable how the man loved his “baby.”

Although a slight smirk appeared on his mouth, there was the reminder of everything that flashed through the mind within minutes, that quick accumulation of a single second, when it came to the friend he was bound to. Perhaps he had it coming, never knowing the full extent of the tie as a deep sigh fell off a relatively light chest. He could only imagine how he would feel by the end of this cathartic adventure.

Conversations continued to rustle in their varying volumes, thankful he did not have the angelic focus to be so overwhelmed by both the exterior and interior of human voices. He had talked of everything else, but why was it so difficult to admit this out loud? What would it say about who he was as an angel within those wobbling morals and his own mind where God and the angels couldn’t penetrate? A sigh wafted out all over again, taking another blueberry and reveling in the multiple sweet flavors in his mouth. Once more his eyes couldn’t help but close, feeling a sudden rush of air across the left arm.

A bike rider continued his journey down the sidewalk as the eyes opened, looking beyond Elen and this strange confessional of a tiled table in an urban garden. Blinking downwards, it all just fell out with a “what actions should a person take right after realizing they were a part of an unhealthy friendship? I have allowed,” another sigh blew out, looking to the ripples against the plastic water glasses as if they could be as therapeutic as the table itself. “I have allowed so much, _so much_ in this friendship to only lose parts of myself to Dean Winchester. I allowed him to believe I could come to him at any time even while my brothers and sisters were dying on the battlefield! I allowed myself for the man to take me to a den of iniquity when he just couldn’t believe that a man, a-an angel in a human man’s shell, really just wanted to get the job done whether or not he might die summoning an archangel!”

“Well, at least I have an idea of your sexual identity?” that mixed accent gently rolled affectionately in its questioning sarcasm, Elen’s eyes barely whimsical as a nose wrinkled. A chuckle couldn’t help itself as peach colored fingernails reached for a blueberry and between gentle chews, “I’m going to assume communication right now is off the table.”

“Dean’s words were very direct so I figured it was rejection of all types, but a part of me wonders if somehow he would call me.”

“Ah yes, the old ‘friendship is a convenient tool only when I need you’ trick. I remember that one _very_ well.”

“I don’t even think I want to hear his voice right now anyways, with the last five years in Jimmy’s shell and being a part of Dean’s family. Dean always liked to call the three of us family,” Those differently shaded irises closed sharply, a quick sound breathing off of the back of Elen’s throat. That must have been familiar to her as well and this he did not like despite all of the advice. As her eyelids fluttered open and colored fingernails wiping the tops of her cheeks, his own slightly wincing in curiosity, “What did you do all those times when another person’s friendship failed you?”

With a brighter sigh and a flip of her hair behind shoulders, Elen leaned towards her empty coffee container and water glass with an equally wincing curiosity. “Do you have Dean’s number memorized?”

“Unfortunately” came out slightly dry, fingers grabbing the ripples of his own water glass then sipping at it, “Why?”

“I need you to be OK with doing something, this is always the first step and it always feels damned good. May I look at your phone?” The small black flip phone was passed to her and the realization that it all begins with deleting of Dean’s number on his speed dial, Elen turning it in her hand so the screen could stare back at him. A small bubble inquired “Do you want to delete Dean Winchester from your phone?” with the options of cancel and confirm underneath the question.

A deep breath effortlessly exhaled off of a slowly unburdening chest, taking his phone back into his touch. After all, he did have Dean’s number memorized, but what good was that when it all was on the hunter now? The action may have been miniscule and maybe even a little pointless, as a finger reached up and tapped the confirm option. He still had Sam’s number and he still liked the younger Winchester however odd he was acting lately.

The weight on his shoulders began to die down all over again, staring at the disappearance of the window as it evaporated from the phone screen. Somehow the victory that wanted to come out of this moment still had all of that disappointment attached. Who was he to have allowed so much, as the phone screen went slowly dark. With that, a hand could at last move as it flipped the phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket.

“And yet it doesn’t completely feel good, does it?”

“No.”

Bright floral and striped sleeves crossed on top of the table, lips quickly flexing towards something like a smile. A hand was now seen reaching beyond the bowl and touching his forearm, the sudden touch feeling far warmer than the previous moment against the inside of the elbow. His eyes looked down at the paler hand against Jimmy’s, his, arm. A nanosecond practically marveled at owning this forearm and perceiving the touch on it but even this sensation was not very new.

“While you were inside getting that,” a scoff scratched its way out of his throat, watching that hand drop back against a sea of blue and yellow flowers, “that rare phone number of yours, I remembered everything I ever let slide in that friendship. Somehow I have managed to let a previous angelic charge get away with a lot because of the profound bond we share, shar _ed_ , share. It gave him a scar of my hand as I rose him from perdition and it must have marked me from the inside feeling helpless and angry. Sometimes I don’t know where the bond begins and what little of the honest friendship ends.”

“And yet you can’t let the argument in your mind go.”

“Because who am I without Dean’s influence?” The eyelids quickly blinked, realizing this being one of the few times he finished Elen’s sentences instead of the reverse. A smile almost appeared on his lips if it were not for the actual words that came out of his throat, watching a little brown sparrow swoop down onto the concrete loudly tweet. With a little hop in one direction and quickly looking around, he or she was clearly looking for food as another chirp reverberated from its beak. A chocolate covered blueberry surely wouldn’t have sufficed and guilt could not help itself as teeth bit into another.

“Who _are_ you without Dean’s influence?”

With another “cheep” of is beak, the sparrow flew into a tree behind him, not bothering to follow its pilgrimage. Nature, that had to be one of the things he initially marveled at coming down to earth for the first time, believing it to be the most beautiful thing God had ever created. But this happened so long ago, before becoming marveled at humans themselves in their complexity. With the scent of chocolate radiating out of his mouth, “I like to think Dean has never effected my love for earth’s nature, being within it or a more urban setting on a bench smelling leaves and grass in whatever season. I love its silence and even how in a burdened angelic state it could somewhat soothe me almost as much as it does for humans.” Those unyielding pupils flexed, but he was not surprised at what could have lingered deeper within them in all of its affectionate mocking.

“Although,” and lips balanced the edge of a plastic cup between them feeling water slowly run down his throat, “Although if it were not for Dean, I would not have known certain human idioms or popular cultural references I have heard throughout the years but never made connections to. I have always appreciated slowly understanding human rhetoric for however much I found it appalling at first.”

“And differentiating what is yours versus what has been influenced should feel more of a help than a dumbbell. But really,” her eyelashes quickly blinked, makeup smearing off to the side of her eye, “what are the things that are entirely the ex-badass-angel Castiel’s?”

Lips pursed at the sudden compliment, pleasantly surprised to have been described as “badass” when the latter half of that word was often used against him to his face. Eyes couldn’t help their squint, the longer and untamed strands of hair falling across his forehead. Who was he without Dean Winchester? A relatively permanently vesseled angel with “an affinity for Jimmy’s trench coat” he heard himself between intervals of a chuckle. “Something about it in quick moments of being amazed me to be in a vessel once again and how the coat kind of felt weightless and flowing in walking, as if I had a little physical reminder of my wings on the physical body.”

“Well, so far we have intuitive, nature loving—“

“I had a feeling you would like that one” couldn’t be restrained as those pupils practically lit up in that endless dark. Lips smiled back at her own slowly widening grin.

“—Nature-loving, philosophic, and far more spiritual than others in your previous line of work.”

“Would a spiritual philosopher find in enjoyment in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

“Oh, most definitely,” a nod of copper waves insisted and another grin found itself rising along with Elen’s own.

“I enjoy,” even after five years in a human vessel on earth, it was strange to assert the more human-made things he enjoyed. Lips were quickly licked, finding the oddity of emotion dry them in this split moment and in looking into those pupils which softly grinned back at him supportively, “I enjoyed that peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Saturday I met you because it was offered by my manager from a place of sincerity, but I do enjoy all food.” Elen wasn’t too surprised at this statement as pupils flexed almost mocking.

“I-I am fascinated with human compassion, the news and news specials on people and how their kindness affects others. Watching children play on playgrounds as I am on that bench, feeling nature surround me. Bees,” and with that, a laugh than just a polite giggle fell out of a bared throat as Elen dropped her head back. “They’re so fascinating in their line of duty.”

“And that deer learning how to ice skate, of course.”

“Of course” and another slowly spreading smile was almost synchronous to Elen’s own before her own pupils broke from the gaze in a helpless giggle. “You were right, we are not too different. I like you just as equally as you like me.” Now those were words he could never say out loud to Dean, the name barely touching that weightlessness that felt only stranger the longer he sat there. Still, there was a sensation to exhale than sigh, following a robin’s sudden tweeting from the tree behind Elen. A small group of people were leaving from a table next to it. “I never really told Dean I liked him in such a blunt way. I wonder if that would have made a difference.”

“Would that erase the foundations of what makes Dean him and how he communicates?” Her bright teeth momentarily gritted against one another, lips slowly spreading back, “That,” and eyebrows gradually lifted beyond her glasses and underneath copper bangs, “could have sounded rude.”

“Don’t worry, it didn’t. Every so often, from looking into his dreams, feeling overwhelmed by the bond or what you call unrequited love, there was always the thought. If miscommunication and our stubbornness wasn’t in the way—“ those rogue pieces of hair fell across his forehead as it gently shook, unknowing how to finish that statement, there were so many different ways between where their friendship or the tie would be now, the ease they spoke to one another or how Dean would have acted towards him with such resistance. But hair continued to graze skin, his eyes almost wincing in a helplessness up into those endless pupils on the other side of this table.

“If Dean wasn’t a part of this modern version of you, I’d recommend to get him out of your head, if not to just disengage or allow time to heal you.” Tips of ears immediately heated up in a strange embarrassment discovering another, or perhaps the same, sparrow in the middle of the courtyard, bouncing from concrete tile to concrete tile. Its exuberance almost made him smile.

Elen was almost glowing even in all of her usual laid back solemnity, crossing elaborately colored arms and leaning forward against them. As his own hand reached for one of the last few blueberries, “I have a strong feeling you won’t allow yourself to be completely healed, no matter the reparative therapy.” Her r’s sounded even thicker than usual.

“Please don’t say that.”

Eyelids narrowed over golden green irises wincing back at him almost concerned. How did he say that so easily? Of course it was the failure that hung over him, Metatron, his disappointed and angry brothers and sisters across the globe. This couldn’t be easily “healed” even if he wanted it to be, however naïve that thought. Heaven and its angels were rarely simple, even in their disbelief in free will. Maybe it was simply angelic burdens, the constant need to feel the hovering weight of something he could not entirely explain. Even now half unburdened chewing blueberries and watching birds tweet and fly around, the mere allusion of a burden couldn’t help but simply lean against shoulders.

“And why not, the Winchesters’ Bean Bunny?[14]” The head cocked in its usual confusion over pop culture references watching a playfully wicked grin glowing in her differently shaded irises. But the look slowly evaporated as that understanding smile reappeared, practically glowing against short cheekbones. “Human compassion seems to be one of your favorite things to observe, it shows what you like about this awful species,” He didn’t like how she spoke about her, their kind.

“But,” gently slurred out as one side of her neck dropped against a palm, the fabric of her shirt wilting back to an elbow, “More often than not, what we list as our favorite things shows what kind of people we are, so, the thought of your angelic siblings confused or depressed or terrified although angry at you,” his lips slowly spread amused and fascinated as that voice sped up, that odd accent becoming progressively thicker in this odd passion, “will cut deeper into you eventually, but right now, you do need to feel things for yourself. People, and assumingly angels, rarely do that for themselves if I,” her throat quickly scoffed a giggle, “can presume that.”

“And the irony in that statement is that I was told not to be concerned with heaven and the angels—“

“Are you just being hard on yourself in saying that or are you defying Metatron in doing the opposite?”

Eyelashes flickered, surprised at the question. Metatron would have wanted him to forget everything, however often the guilt and failure plagued him. There was apparently a story to be written, watching the remainder of the color on Elen’s lips slowly round in an o, “W-what I meant was is that your self-criticism critiquing what you were _told_ and _that_ being the thing you’re disappointed with than just simply being hard on yourself? Emotions are rarely one note when it comes to people like us.”

Eyelids squinted all over again, fascinated by this question although it all still reminded him of the leather straps digging into his wrists. If eyes completely closed, he would have been in Naomi’s stark office all over again, Metatron and his beard leering over him, pulses of breath telling to him to make his own story. But instead of condemning the psychotic scribe, all he could conjure was a hum in the back of his throat not knowing whether to follow these orders in this new state or to continue on in the self he always was with or without Jimmy’s vessel. Did he do everything but resist the extraction of his grace?

Even in the moments leading up to and after having his grace ripped from him, that failure laid thick against shoulders as a new burden to carry next to the weight that was Dean and all that was heaven. Then Jimmy’s chin was cut and that disappointment seemed to anchor him back into that chair, not being able to move even if he wanted to. To being told to not concern himself was less of an evil than having his grace extracted or was it more of the reverse in hindsight? He allowed that manipulation in his head for however much he deserved it! Tears were falling down his face before he even realized it.

Tears were falling down the cheeks and yet he allowed it. They seemed to fall out of his eyes without a single contortion of any feature of Jimmy’s face! How could he have not seen this passive aggression until now? Hands wiped down his face and once again, every nerve stood to attention under its touch. “I-I apologize.”

“Why? Are men not supposed to cry?” that affectionate mocking was all over Elen’s smile grinning at him as tears flooded his gaze. The sweetness did not last for too long as dark eyelashes blinked down to the table. “I take it that someone has been living in your head rent free and you just kicked them out.”

“I suppose I didn’t realize I was allowing a passive aggressive statement have a hold on my feelings than actually myself. It didn’t help that the real failure was settling in as he spoke to me. I tried not to listen, I tried to hold onto hope until—“

“Until being un-angel…ized?” the slow progression of the made up word and the mental calculating all over her now far golden gaze thankfully sobered a few more tears. Another hand glided down the face, nerves barely as loud as they were. “I suppose you have a huge weight off your shoulders right now. Being released from only one knot of passive aggressive emotional abuse like that, it,” those copper waves slowly nodded against blue and yellow flowers, those pupils momentarily twitching, “It’s intense.”

“And yet somehow I’m hiding in plain sight. I’m sure Metatron is loving every moment of this and I am sure I’m putting your life in danger—“

“I don’t answer to your God, so weirdly named scribe angel guy would have no effect on me.”

Despite her honorable stubbornness, a grin could not help itself as her ability for language befuddled and yet intrigued the more that odd accent floated in and out of her voice. Gazing upwards, the light against the blue of the umbrella had shifted slightly, as he learned from a children’s program that the sun moves in the sky differentiating the time of the day.

While Dean’s friendship still maintained a burden against shoulders, something felt far lighter within the nerves. Even as his eyes looked away to observe the rest of the courtyard with a deep sigh, the concrete somehow managed to look even brighter, the flowers against the building with a far more vivid scent than before. Tears almost wanted to fall out all over again, but why would a person cry if they were not sad or grieving? As fingers wiped the insides of his eyes then gently pinching the bridge of his nose, “So much for thinking I could avoid the world around me.”

At the release of his face and dropping the hand down against his water glass now half drunk, “I thought I could have avoided everyone, not knowing of vesseled angels who could find me and kill me.”

“So you work at a gas station.”

“I thought it could be the honorable thing and the best plan to assist people from a distance, but it does not stop the fear of possibly being killed or the knowledge that Metatron is listening in and waiting for the day I tell him the details of story of my supposed new life.” Moisture sprang up against knuckles and in looking down, the plastic cup was crushed in his hand with water all over him. A breath scoffed from between lips, at least he had some of his anger back.

“It’s strange how I have gone from rising a man out of hell and killing rogue angels and demons and collecting souls to hiding like this—“ but a head stopped shaking enough to observe the last blueberry in the bowl and in looking up the woman he quite liked, that red hair merely nodded.

“Oh, go ahead,” and with a quick sip of the last of her water then biting the fading color on her mouth against one another, “You know, you shouldn’t think of it as hiding, y-you should consider it reparative therapy, human self-preservation. We are all allowed it even if it looks cowardly or selfish to other people. But after that,” she quickly nodded down to the water glass now lying in the white bowl, “I have a feeling your wanting to hide won’t last for too long.”

“Please don’t say that” and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, she was right.


	4. "I had the feeling you rarely get anything home-cooked."

How that same day Elen gave him a book to read? The dark brown door of her apartment complex burst open and there she was skipping down to the car at the curb. Teeth were immediately gritted in a mocking grin as she tossed a black and white book through the car window onto the seat next to him. But eyes couldn't help but wince at the strange action, quickly looking down to the square book. 

"You kept reminding me of that book," interrupted the quick observation as a copper wave nodded down her face then gesturing towards the book. "On and off all day. Maybe," and with a slur, there was a careful look in those strange eyes as they looked back into his, "Maybe it would help you with your soul searching. It's one of my absolute favorites, I read it years before I read Walden."  

Although this Walden was lost on him and between stop lights, he looked down at the book art. There was a photograph of a boat overlooking a body of water and surrounding trees, something that seemed just as calming as a park bench or that seat in the Garden Café. Nerves felt softened just looking at the image before looking up to the fine blue font that entitled this Letters to a Spiritual Seeker by Henry David Thoreau.  

After having taken the car back its owner, the one teenaged employee of the Gas n Sip, and going through another night shift of CNN, sleep for once was the last thing on his mind as he laid on the air mattress. He read as much as he could before the black print began to blurry from exhaustion as this famous writer insisted to his pen pal that he meet a Mr. Rickerson and that "sincerity is a great but rare virtue, and we pardon to it much complaining, and the betrayal of many weaknesses." 

This famous writer named Henry David Thoreau spent most of the 1800s writing letters to a Harrison Blake off and on. Most of the references flew over his head, the mutual friends and other authors he had never heard of, but there was something honest and yearning in between the lines that felt far more alive than all of the angst and frustration he had dealt with for the past few weeks. Some sentences even proved this man was truly mentor material, speaking almost directly to him the more he read. 

"As for the dispute about solitude and society any comparison is impertinent. It is an idling down on the plain at the base of a mountain instead of climbing steadily to its top. Of course you will be glad of all the society you can get to go up with. Will you go to glory with me? is the burden of the song. I love society so much that I swallowed it all at a gulp - i.e. all that came in my way. It is not that we love to be alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do soar, the company grows thinner and thinner till there is none at all."  

He read the entire book in two nights, never having felt more validated in this human form. It was even strange how sleep managed to come deeper and longer than usual and without some weight against the mind or his body. Both mornings he awoke feeling strangely refreshed, re-reading all of the pages he marked with quotes that boded a second look.  

"It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite—only a sense of existence."  

"Hard times, I say, have this value, among others that they show us what such promises are worth..."  

"Whatever beauty we behold, the more it is distant, serene, and cold, the purer and more durable it is. It is better to warm ourselves with ice than with fire." 

The internal part of the body continued to marvel at the lack of stress and frustration against him as he read, continually inspired than motivated although guilty all at the same time. Did that weight of heaven and the angels always have to press against him even in guilt for not feeling it for a quick second? It was all he thought about that second day along with a reminder to buy notecards to write down his favorite quotes to keep in his pocket. So between patrons and selling pop and chips, something deep in Jimmy's nerves continued to marvel at this level of calm before the guilt settled in at its usual intervals. 

"We are all allowed […] even if it looks cowardly or selfish to other people." 

It was pointless to beat himself up for not beating himself up at every moment when the mind allowed him peace, exhausted of reaffirming all he had gone through in attempting to close heaven and being deceived by the angel with an affinity for stories. Somehow in that failure, there was responsibility, and, as of two days ago, yet not all at once. Maybe this, and the alternating between calm and guilt, was what being a human was truly like. 

Jimmy's neat handwriting scrawled across many notecards with a black pen, taking in each word before they flew by his eyesight. Perhaps he had experienced this world of 1900s Massachusetts before, but in his prior half-caring angel ways, human men and scholars scurrying around for a sincere and simple way in existing just seemed trivial against the heavenly establishment and his own slowly morphing ethics. A small part of the once angelic body still wanted to silently judge all that he read, that the philosophizing was commendable, but all of the personal experience got in the way. Could humans ever be truly happy with just sincerity and simplicity? Now as a human, could he? 

Somehow, this Thoreau understood the difference in the peace he achieved from nature and yet somehow existing in the social world around him. That should have been enough, but  _he_ had seen battlefields both in heaven and on earth. He had seen half bleeding and exhausted Winchesters fight their folkloric creatures. He had watched any and all beings fighting one another believing the way they believed was more important than the other and yet he was supposed to be a benevolent angel and warrior of the Lord! It all could only cycle back to yearning or achieving a peaceful moment on a bench somewhere. 

The mind spun and his nerves snapped to attention before disengaging all over again. This had to have been what being human felt like, resisting the sensation to brush a hand down the face not wanting to look like a stressed-out cashier before he wandered over to clean the counter of the slushie machine.   

A different sensation began the day after he wrote out those notecards, now practically permanently glued into his jean pockets. Something like lightning, or the pinch of a knife to his chin, nipped the space between his thumb and index finger. It happened for a few days until he looked down to it as he ate at a diner worthy of the Winchesters realizing it was the same spot where water had splashed against Jimmy's, his, skin as that plastic cup crushed against his hand. He wouldn't have had been a benevolent angel and warrior of the Lord if his anger prompted for that action to happen without his knowledge! But would his brothers and sisters even want the help if he were to go against Metatron's passive aggression? The idea of helping them sent a sharp pain through the forehead. Where could he start?  _How_  could he help them?  

"The thought of your angelic siblings confused or depressed or terrified although angry at you will cut deeper into you eventually." It was bad enough that between the guilt and relief, there would always be some anxiety at the possibility of running into one of them. Maybe it was too soon to even imagine a strategy in getting them back to heaven or to even ask those questions to himself! Nerves were often gently vibrating a restlessness since that afternoon in the Rexburg café after the cup was crushed in his hand. They even continued this throbbing during his spotty hours between the graveyard shift and the occasional afternoon with little else to distract him other than those quotes and the multitudes of self-reflection that came along with them. 

Humans do contend with so much, the nervous system with its own reactive thoughts and the mind which shouted words to himself along with all of the images that brought him up to this exact moment. It also did not help deciding what it was he should have been feeling in a single moment of turning off that news channel. He had enough of the constant analyzing of the "so-called" meteor event, changing the TV to a talk show. Maybe this, just the simple change of channels was something close to doing something for the angels, something close to a strategy. 

 

* 

 

How he could have taken that book back to Elen's apartment at any time, but took it with him that Saturday night when she offered to cook for him? Even though he hadn't looked at it for the last few days, the note cards were observed often. But as he walked around to the backyard of the building complex, being directed to the ground floor unit on the left that with a garden, it seemed advisable to not discuss how the book affected him even if it involved a sincere bowl of pumpkin macaroni and cheese. 

Her patio was interesting as an old wooden chair sat on the small deck and how the grass surrounding her garden was shaped like a half moon. There was a scented wave of lavender rising from the plot, hearing nothing from inside of the apartment. There were two half-grown tree roots and strange metal flowers coming right out of the soil, as well as a silver owl hovering over many units of pansies and marigolds towards the front.  A large chunk of cropped decorative grass sat to the rear and before he could observe the fine cutting of its blades, a clear and higher singing voice wafted out onto her outdoor property. 

"This world may have failed you/it doesn't give you reason why/you could have chosen/a different path of life."*

Elen had to have been singing as goosebumps surprisingly rose on half clothed arms. Feeling reactive tears was one thing, but to feel skin under the effect of someone's simple singing voice was another! The shock itself was equally as strange as he couldn't help but look down to observe his slowly wilting arm hair. Everything went back to silence as a hand lifted to shield his vision from the setting sun and looking into the dark apartment. His grasp on the plastic shopping bag filled with what Elen called "obligatory wine and chocolate" was held even tighter, hoping the paper wrapped bottle would not affect the book she so avidly adored. 

At the quickest sound of a knock, music that did not come from the apartment renter began quietly playing. "Today, today, is going to be a better one/There's nothing more to take in/That's going wrong."*

"Hey! Come on in!" and with a tentative slide of a screen door, this was Elen's personal world.  

It seemed warm with the brown trim of doors, kitchen cabinets, but especially the darker carpet which he did not stand on as he discovered a door mat under feet. It was full of books, a smaller shelf next to the front door that sat crooked filled with old looking books lining the top shelf and a plant sitting on the very top. There was a taller shelf sitting behind a burgundy chair on the other side of the sliding door packed with books of all different colors with some sitting on their sides and some vertically. Where did the Thoreau book belong in this organization? 

All of the book spines began to look even darker as the sun began to really set, Elen's world only getting darker. Was he supposed to take off his shoes or place the shopping bag down at a specific spot, he did not know. So he continued to stand there, feeling the sun's warmth slowly fall from the back of the shirt. 

"I ran down a block for extra cheese! I thought I had enough with what I already had and I'm still wearing gro--" Elen finally appeared as she walked down a small hallway next to the refrigerator, a light momentarily blinding him as it glared down onto the tiny kitchen, reflecting off of the shinier appliances. She looked different than the last time he had seen her. Maybe it was the Thoreau or the introspection or even how relaxed this strange woman was in her dwellings. But somehow she managed to still look the same, in a beige shirt that fell off her tank top dressed shoulders that read "Breathe deeply, Love madly, Live fully" with leggings and, of course, bare feet.   

"Gross clothes, or I was," neutrally glossy lips grinned upwards as she crossed her kitchen and looking into the oven. Without even looking over at him and opening the door to the kitchen appliance, "You know you can walk over here whenever you want, I have no," the echoing sound of a metal stove rack rang over the quiet music, "Shoe policies." 

A soft chuckle couldn't help itself as legs finally found the courage to move, walking forward to a small worn black table with equally worn stools. One had duct tape on it.  "I finished reading it" were the first words out of his mouth, drawing the book out of the plastic bag. 

"Wow, color me surprised. I always pictured you as a very slow reader." 

"And with your collection, I'm picturing you as a fast reader." 

Two black and brown bowls were sat on the opposite side of the table then the hands which placed them there dropped down to either side of them. How long was he looking down exactly, he equally did not know looking up to her. The hidden turquoise of her glasses was far more apparent than usual and there were little flecks of blue slowly appearing in that left iris. There was even an odd strip of a shimmery color on her eyelid next to her eyelashes. But as far as his gaze knew, he was not staring as intensely as she began to slowly smile. This seemed to be a common thing, feeling one lift the apples of his cheeks until naturally scoffing. Even she huffed a similar breath.  

"That's just 32 years of books that have affected me. Most of them are read except for—" peach colored fingernails pointed to the top shelf of old books and then past him. An end table sat next to the burgundy chair by the sliding door, the unit underneath the drawer packed with books laying in multiple directions. "The ones by my chair are my TBR, er, to be read pile." 

"You are an ambitious woman." Turning back to her, eyes couldn't help but quickly wince down to the Thoreau. That blue still remained in that one iris as his head couldn't help a tilt at the reveal of her age. It didn't look right against her as she looked far younger. "32?" 

"Shit," she gently hissed then bursting out laughing, a flash of the turquoise behind her frames quickly appearing to only disappear all over again. It was contagious as lips continued to grin at this display of mock angst. "Well, um," her hand lifted to brush the side of her hair behind an ear, "did you like the book?" 

"Yes, very much. Thank you again for the recommendation, I feel I almost needed to read some of these sentences. I—" Everything of the past three days almost tempted to come flooding right out of his mouth. Elen was easy to talk to as a grinning bottom lip cocked to its side finding her returning to the oven all over again, pushing a few buttons then opening the door to retrieve a glass lid. "I even wrote some of those quotes down so I could always have them with me." 

A peach colored fingernail switched a button upwards then slowly sitting down on her floor groaning a "like a pocket Thoreau." Those complex hazel-gold eyes looked up and over a shoulder, looking even younger than she was at this wide-eyed angle, "You feel a little different too. That book must have done something good to you." 

"It did." 

"Good!"  

With that, it was surprisingly easy to walk around the table and sitting cross-legged beside Elen on her kitchen floor. It did seem odd, feeling as if he should be the one to discard the dessert and wine from its bag but still he sat there, unknowing whether to stare inside the oven door to a white casserole dish or at a green plaid towel that hung from the oven door handle. "Wh-" the lips puckered and his eyes winced, looking over to the spice scented woman named after a Goddess, "What are we looking at?"  

The brown shirt was able to stay up on the shoulder she turned towards, grinning amused. "Well, I got all fancy and put bread crumbs on top to bread it, so it needs to broil until it looks a little crusty." He never noticed before that there was a small black freckle just off to the left side of her nose as it wrinkled upwards in a grin. Her nose piercing momentarily sparkling at the same movement. 

Now looking into the oven and feeling his palms against knees, it was nowhere near browned. It was almost like when April offered him that sandwich, although this was far more purposeful. Somehow it was easy to forget and yet remember April all at the same time, minus the almost dying part. It was easy to remember how beautiful she was with that soft red hair, those blue eyes, and that kind grin that kissed him. Of course there was also the insistent peanut butter and jelly sandwich from her purse that tasted like benevolence, if food could taste like an emotion.  

"I wish I could forget the last time someone offered me food" fell out of far too easily and eyes immediately winced, looking down into the tiles of the floor. There was even a strange grainy texture within each square so much like that table in Rexford.  

"I had the feeling you rarely get anything home-cooked." 

"I'm afraid the only macaroni and cheese I have eaten in recent weeks has been a microwavable Kraft bowl." 

"Shame, but I get that. Dare I ask what happened?" 

"April," he sighed out. It felt like such a disservice to know the vessel's name but not the reaper's, otherwise it would have been easy to forget the whole experience and yet not all at the same time. Denim pressed against his knee, pressing the darker jeans against a palm. Thankfully,  he shook his head as that singular name came out of the  lips which  could only sigh  in defeat of the whole experience .  The last thing he wanted was to remember that sharp electricity that ran through his  body  and how  it felt like to die as a human. 

"B-before I came here, a very n-nice woman who worked at a diner gave me a sandwich. It tasted very good and it tasted like redemption to the new human senses. We had a sexual relationship, but it was a fleeting one." 

A childlike voice taunted an "ew, human things." Looking into the oven window to the slowly browning casserole and catching Elen's sardonic grin through the door's reflection, a chuckle was impossible. It was exactly that, human things, and like so many other things, it was easy to remember and forget the whole experience especially with a reaper inside of a kind woman's vessel. Would the real April treat him so kindly? 

"Looking back, the way it all began should have been a red flag, but I was so lost in myself and there was something addicting in April kissing me. My humane gullibility and vulnerability was used and yet, in the moment I felt as if I was being led by the body and yet my mind didn't mind. Somehow," there were wisps of hair practically on his eyelid for how deeply the eyebrows had winced, not looking at either the casserole dish or Elen's reflection but practically into space itself, "it felt all the more impulsive and carnal which felt nice and yet, even now, it feels like a word that's just beyond my grasp. Not guilt or satisfaction or distaste or attraction just—" 

"Fascination?" 

"Fascination," breath heavily wracked outwards at the word, quickly looking over to the pinched ends of Elen's sad smile. "I think I have forgiven myself for what had happened, but I wanted it while not knowing that I wanted it, like going along with an unexpected discovery. I figured I would just forget about it and then my own angel blade went through me. I died" was still a strange phrase to breathe, at least now in a human state without suddenly becoming un-exploded post Apocalypse. "Somehow I came back, Sam and Dean helped." 

"I'm sorry your first time was so muddled." 

"It seems that would be a common thing being a human. Everything seems to be, as you call, muddled."

"But it's the worst behind bedroom doors especially for people like us. You want to connect fully even if you are fully present, but so often the other party isn't which only detaches you." Elen's lesser blue iris looked back towards the oven door slowly wincing. "Then even more detached when you discover how lost you are and realizing that you're," the hand opposite of him raised in mid-air, softly bobbing along with her words, "simply wanting some kind of physical form of affirmation, that you're not lonely despite how well you can socialize and go through most of the mating customs. But," she sighed, dropping that gesturing hand to the floor, "that doesn't stop the constant wanting then not wanting human contact whether it be emotional or—" that pronounced roll fell off of her tongue as a chin dropped against a shoulder. Elen was grinning that teasing grin of hers, "Human things. But I do get it." 

"That sounds less of a cryptic phrase and more like a confession." 

"Don't get used to it," that taunting grin only smiled wider, her glasses slowly slipping down the bridge of a nose. There was a pattern on the hinges of her frames he had never noticed before.  

"But," came out brighter and a little louder as she stood. "My name isn't April and my mac and cheese  _never_  tastes like redemption." 

He laughed, feeling it tickle up the throat following her ascent from the kitchen tiles. The spine and both knees couldn't help but crack as he slowly stood, habitually pushing that red hoodie down his hips. But in looking up from his quick task, she was still grinning but in that mockingly affectionate kind of way. It was strange to have known this woman for such a short amount of time and already knowing the definitions of her multiple different kinds of smiles.   

If Elen insisted her now breaded macaroni and cheese didn't taste like redemption, what could it have tasted like instead? He didn't bother asking, but it was kind of exciting to discover a word all on his own. It smelled like a kind of melted cheese he had never smelled before as it came out of the oven in a matter of minutes, fully golden brown with a few darker spots. Elen quickly and mockingly claimed the crunchier areas as her own as she used a strange silver contraption to open the wine.  

It was only a matter of minutes before a golden clump of noodles, cheese, and milk with its secret ingredient plopped into the brown of the bowl. It smelled wonderful and fresher than his previous microwavable counterpart. A silver fork noiselessly fell into one of the bowls, looking up to where it fell out of Elen's hand. She was already taking a second sip of her wine.  "Oh, I approve," practically groaned out of her throat, taking her own bowl into the other hand and quickly nodding towards the beige couch.  

There was something relaxing about her apartment pushing the black foot stool to the other end of the couch with his foot. Sitting down on the opposite end of this tiny couch, there was a television staring directly towards the sitting area. It was much bigger than the Gas n Sip television as it took up the width of a small black table. There were multiple different colored DVDs on the shelf area underneath along with a few appliances and a small polka dotted owl with yellow and pink eyes. There was something relaxing about her apartment, sighing quickly into a grin and with that, a fork lifted to his mouth. The back of the throat truly could not have helped a soft hum of approval.  

"Not bad," he repeated, reveling in the crunchiness of bread crumbs. It was perfect against the soft cheesiness looking up to Elen's gaze.  

"Do any," a finger shot up in front of her mouth as she finished chewing, "defining characteristics come to mind?" She quickly teased, slowly grinning in that way as her fork fell back into the bowl. 

"Nothing immediate, but it  _is_  the first bite." His fork dug into the thick cheesiness all over again. 

"That's fair. You know back there," copper hair nodded backwards towards the kitchen, "You looked like you almost didn't even want to bring up that woman who took your virginity, I mean, I assume." Her multicolored irises looked soft and almost careful before looking into her own bowl.  

Breath hollowed off the back of the throat, looking down into this endless golden matrix. Instead of the microwavable elbow shaped noodles, these looked like sea shells. How did humans mold noodles in all of those different shapes and what were their significance? But it would be impolite and yet not to ban the topic from this dinner, although everything else was so easily discussed. His fork at last dug into the casserole all over again. If Elen was from this country, would she have many of the same hang ups that Dean or even Sam had when it came to conversations about sexual intimacy? They always did raise their eyebrows and look at each other awkwardly as if sex was something to be uncomfortable. "Are you sure you want to bring up this subject?"  

"And why not?" 

"Because everyone I have met in my five years in this vessel seem uncomfortable when the subject of sexual intercourse is involved." 

"Just because a majority of the uneducated American 9 to 5 drones believe in puritanical abstinence, doesn't mean there's not a minority among them. There is," that hand holding her own bare fork began bobbing in mid-air all over again, "Always a minority amongst a majority, it just takes a little maturity and education." That copper wave mockingly nodded before being tucked behind an ear filled with two silver studs, her hand returning to her fork.  

"I suppose it was having been so vulnerable, I almost don't want to even bring it up even in my mind. When I do think about the nice parts, the, what you call  _human things_ ," a grin could not have shone any wider as Elen pressed her now empty fork against her lips chewing slowly. But in looking into the blackness of the television exactly and conveniently across the room, "I have to imagine April's vessel as April herself and not the reaper that was inside of her. That's what makes it even worse—" a scoff overlapped his words, looking back into that golden matrix. 

"The reaper never revealed its name, even if justice was done for me through the Winchesters, I almost would have liked to have known its name just for closure. I would have liked to have known if April herself would have shown that kindness if there wasn't a manipulative reaper inside of her." 

"So you close off the experience completely in pretending you were ever gullible in the first place." His lips folded inwards and completely dry at the contact, but in raising to meet that complex eye color and taking up the wine glass on the foot stool, "How human."  

Just as those endless pools began to fill his gaze all over again and flexing in that understanding way, Elen stood from where she sat. Bare peach toe nails walked across the small perimeter of kitchen tiles then stood on their tips as she reached for something in a cabinet over the stove.  

Salt was sprinkled into her bowl which now sat on the table as a hand instinctively reached for his own wine glass. This taste combination was odd, far used to Dean's hard liquor and beer but never this kind of alcohol. Had Dean ever tasted wine before? In taking another sip with the taste of cheese on the back of the throat, it tasted wonderful and reminded him when an angelic body told his about a Jewish man in the middle east reported to have made it from water. 

That disembodied music only continued through the silence, not even caring to pin point where it came from. "Life was supposed to be a film, was supposed to be a thriller, was supposed to end in tears/But life, could be nothing but a joke, could be nothing but a con/Where's my unhappy ending gone?"*

"Have you—" came out louder than he expected, sitting the wine glass back down onto the black footstool. A quick cough scratched his throat almost like an apology, digging the fork back into the food. "H-have you been in contact with that person who gave you their phone number Tuesday?" 

"We've been texting," slurred out higher than usual as Elen sat back down, crisscrossing her legs sideways on the couch cushion facing him. But at the impact of a bowl between knees, that usual soft and teasing look in those eyes looked almost sad yet careful. "I just worry of the longevity, but that's usually how it goes. With Rexburg being a college town," a palm quickly gestured, "you never know who will stick around and all of those uptight Mormon beliefs being so anti-everything, there are various shades to those attitudes and all of them are equally off putting. But then," slurred almost deviously, watching her eyes slowly narrow, "if you're attractive with great taste in music and working in a coffee house, I suppose my low standards will appreciate that." Copper hair followed the teasing statement in a taunting nod, lips slowly grinning upwards. It was contagious as a grin couldn't help itself. 

"Thoreau did say we don't love to be alone but that we love to soar and when we do, the company grows thinner—" 

"Of course, you memorized parts." 

He managed to chuckle between bites. "You have done that though, allowing yourself to soar and for company to become choosier. I'm jealous, I am equally amazed you have chosen me—" 

"Trust me, it was a lapse in judgment." 

This time it was a simultaneous laugh than scoff, looking back into the dark of the powered down television. "You're lucky to have paired your company down, I don't think I have that luxury although having deleted Dean's number and technically hiding in plain sight from the angels," the head quickly shook, glad to not feel those long pieces against his forehead now cleaned up by Rexburg's local barber, "But my life before becoming Steve is not one I can detach from entirely no matter how much I evolve. It was a dangerous life with consequences." It was strange how his voice didn't even shake in this unfortunate affirmation.  

"And yet?" 

Eyelashes quickly blinked not realizing the solemn look against his face, taking the final bite of his macaroni and cheese. It barely tasted like the secret ingredient, but then what did pumpkin taste like? He only had ever seen the gourd cut and designed during the autumnal holiday.  

"And yet, I have wondered for the past few days if isolating myself was the wiser thing. Just the isolation," sounded harder in his throat as eyes moved slowly to gaze into those endless pupils. "Without the self-preservation or punishment, just to be alone with myself to understand what I have become because of having been around both heavenly and human beings. I always did not feel like a self that didn't even want to be itself, at least over time." 

"So really you just need time to think, that's more than fair. Somewhere between preservation and just needing to be alone. There has to be a better word for it than just straight—" a hand moved horizontally in mid-air then lifting backwards to grab her clear wine glass designed with polka dots off the kitchen table, "Hermetic isolation. You're Thoreau in Walden," was spoken so insistently, a laugh almost tempted the throat. He really did need to read this other book. "in just needing to get away from the world you know just to understand yourself with maybe a little bit of self-preservation." 

Those pupils were half covered with each lid as they slowly winced, "I wonder if that hypersensitive club we're both in naturally has things happen to us in threes, it happens to me a lot!" Elen was grinning and nodding without that assisting wave bouncing against her face, "This is almost like your first strike, you definitely seem more resilient today than Tuesday. But then," she slurred, lifting the wine glass to sit against a knee, "there are always good days and bad days." 

"What if I told you that I felt you were not wrong Tuesday? That it will be sooner than later for me to act upon my heavenly frustrations?" 

"I would probably do the "Will & Grace" 'I Told You So" dance." 

Despite the reference, Elen had spoken so wryly that a laugh could not help itself. If it was possible to feel the cleanliness of hair as a head shook, he could feel it as his hand placed the bowl on the middle cushion between them. Lips pursed in wanting to thank her as a hand dug itself into a hoodie pocket.  

"Well? What do you think the operative word of your food was this time?" 

Perhaps it was the macaroni and cheese or the combination with the wine, or perhaps even everything that was spoken and not for the past two weeks. But one word stood among the rest, taking wine glass in hand while nodding decisively. 

"Cleansing." 

 

*

 

"In your hands, you each have a lethal weapon. If you denounce me to the police, you will also be exposed and humiliated. I'll see to that in court. But, if one of you kills Wadsworth now, no one but the seven of us will ever know. He has a key to the front door, which he said would only be opened over his dead body. I suggest we take him up on that offer. The only way to avoid finding yourselves on the front pages is for one of you to kill Wadsworth. Now." 

The whole television went dark and there was a scuffle. A gun went off a little too loudly and then a scream peeled out of that same darkness. The woman with the odd name of Mrs. Peacock turned the lights back on, the knife in her hand immediately falling. 

The metallic sound of unwrapping another piece of Dove dark chocolate was almost deafening in the quick silence. A sigh almost wanted to contentedly wave outward, but it had simply exhaled instead. This had to have been the calmest he had ever felt in front of a television in the past few days. Unfortunately, the more informational shows on the Gas n Sip television would always be for the more wiling patrons and not really for himself although being the one constant person there. But this was wonderful as ankles crossed on the cushioned reclining plank against his feet.  

"Open those doors," Elen's hair nodded towards the corner where a record player sat on top of the octogen shaped cabinet, "and see which movie title sticks out to you. I've seen all of them." 

Despite having sat in front of a hotel television with the Winchesters numerous times, none of these titles looked incredibly familiar. But there was a curious black case that simply said "Clue" on the spine and in drawing it out of the top tier of a large DVD collection, the art on the front was equally as curious. There were many people in the windows of a large dark house holding various weapons. Eyes didn't even want to wince, allowing this interest to completely wash over him in the moment. Even the multiple stains in her carpet looked a little brighter as he stood up, knees cracking all over again and passing it to the apartment renter. 

A quick pulse tickled the back of her throat as she slowly grinned and taking it from him. "Don't believe the ominous-ness of the cover art, it's more of a dark comedy than anything. It's actually based on a murder mystery board game. It's just silly and I never say no to it." 

It was easy to slide into the world of 1950s New England between sips of a second glass of wine and many pieces of dark chocolate. This edible combination was equally as perfect, but in watching these backstories of oddly named characters being manipulated had strangely never felt more grounding.  

Through clothed feet, the ankle bones almost shivered as they crossed in the opposite direction, quickly feeling the soft rough fabric through socks. Even an arm mindlessly rose to cup the back of the head. This had to have been why humans watched so much television in order to escape their less than desirable lives. The escapism calmed the mind and quieted the nerves and somehow, there was no internal angelic guilt, at least in this moment. A hand mindlessly grabbed another chocolate square watching these characters with color-themed aliases gather around Mr. Boddy's dead body. 

"The actor must not have been very comfortable having to lie face down like that" randomly came right out, his eyelashes practically in the line of vision in wincing so hard. Even in this amazing calm, the nerves would still manage to jump as Elen burst out laughing. 

"You are too empathetic for your own good" was all he heard as the dead body was turned over, a bullet clearly having grazed his temple. 

A sigh breathed from the other side of the couch as the hand dropped from the back of the head. Looking over to the strangely named woman, she was biting into another chocolate square as the black and brown pillow sat in her crossed lap. Between the dark room and the bright colors reflecting off of the television, Elen still held the wrapper as she chewed. 

""Go ahead, have another"" was teased in a high-pitched voice as she crumbled it up into a ball and dropping it on the middle cushion between them. "Why, yes, I will do that!" Elen answered to herself as she dropped an arm down to the carpet and picking up a blue water bottle. There was a slight groan in her throat as the upper body lifted back up with a "I should have made popcorn. I didn't think of any further entertainment other than mac and cheese and just the possibility of a movie." 

"What you have provided is more than enough although I might have eaten enough milk products for the next month" once more came out just as random and thoughtless as before. There was another huff of a giggle from the other end of the couch. This contented escapism was strange, having also experienced it in reading the Thoreau book. It was as if there was no world beyond entertainment, lost in 1800s Massachusetts or 1950s Communist America and everything in the body was quiet. It was addicting as a momentary sparkle reflected against a gem on the iron flower on the wall above her television. 

There were more people in that large house in the 1950s American movie setting. The screaming French maid with the all too ample cleavage was found and immediately calmed down. It was only a matter of a minute that the supposed butler revealed his own story in wanting revenge for his dead wife who was being manipulated by the dead man. Humans always did protect their own as a hand went to the back of his head all over again.  

"She too was being blackmailed by this odious man who now lies dead before us. He hated my wife for the same reason he hated all of you. He believed that you were all thoroughly un-American." The man with the pseudonym Mr. Green fell right through the glass table he was leaning against and the nerves could not help but jump at the loud noise. 

"Sorry." 

Elen immediately burst out laughing. 

"You must have seen this movie many times to pick up on tinier things like that," and Elen was grinning in that teasingly affectionate way as the ends of lips simply lifted. It was difficult to identify her eye color in this lighting looking directly into those pupils. 

"I have. I watched this," her face turned towards the movie, the brighter colors reflecting off of the lenses of glasses, "in high school with friends I would rather forget about," another "r" rolled in that strange way as those endless pools looked back into his, "but it's fun to appreciate the tinier moments of comedy, it shows who are the real professionals. But it does sound like you enjoy the movie." 

"I do. It is very silly." 

"Good. I aim to please and occasionally get you out of your head," copper hair looked far browner in this darker lighting as it nodded conclusively. A smile couldn't help itself on how mockingly resolute she was, discovering a similar grin rising on Elen's face before returning back to the television. 

"I-I hope—" and with that, she quickly pressed a button on the remote that sat between them, pausing the screen on the British butler's face. 

Eyebrows escaped from the hair on her forehead as they winced downwards, even her eyes looked all too careful. He never did like this look as a head tilted and longer hair moved towards her shoulder, "I just hope I wasn't being presumptuous back there about the whole connect slash disconnect in the bedroom with another person. I-I know," a hand quickly undulated a roll in mid-air, "both of us don't care about oversharing. But it was not fair to think it would be the same for you as it is for me because, you know, previous angel sex and all." The shoulder underneath browner colored hair lifted almost teasingly as both hands gestured a horizontal line not too far away from the pillow in her lap. "But you don't need to share anything if you don't want to." 

"I understand, but I suppose both experiences are not too different. I felt both inside and outside of myself and yet fascinated all at the same time. It's odd to feel the body like that—" 

"Anyone coming back into the world after going through a sexual desert can feel the same way." 

"I may not know what that's completely like, but, you have my sympathy." 

" _Diolch_! I mean, um, thank you." At some point between Elen's empathetic confession and that wonderful quick rhythm, she was sitting sideways on the couch cushion. Even the body rolled onto its side to look fully into her affectionately grinning pupils. "But people are rarely completely in the sexual moment, sometimes even during their first time. Now  _that's_ " the ends of her hair nodded against a collarbone, "Depressing." 

He should have felt discomfort or extreme pleasure hearing someone else speaking so candidly about sexual intercourse without mentioning the actual details. It was as if a part of the body wanted to suck in a quick breath, like it was something embarrassing to talk about. But then no specifics  _were_  actually talked about as eyes flickered back to the odd-looking butler in the movie. There were heavily textured curtains beyond the actor leaning against the desk, his eyes wide and worried. When did he become so jaded about other people's reactions to more humane bestial acts? Maybe Dean did ruin him, watching the two Winchester brothers with their eye lifts and spontaneous throat clearing. 

"I used to think the whole act a little ridiculous although in the instances of procreation, it was understandable for the human race. But once in this vessel and with the understanding I received from the Winchesters and the pornography that was thrust upon me—" 

"Either the best or worse word to use right there, ex-angel." 

Elen's forehead was buried in her palm as he looked back at her and laughter could not have been more appropriate as those same fingers quickly rubbed a temple. 

"Although" she slurred as one side of browner hair flipped over its shoulder towards the dark kitchen, "As a woman, I can tell you a few things about unrealistic expectations men can have  _because_  of pornography. Huh," Elen's head shook, quietly scoffing as her eyelids widened, "Ironic." 

"Regardless," and his body shocked itself as it pushed the reclining plank back down, a knee coming up to the cushion where he sat. "it all felt nice to the new senses, but somehow something just didn't feel like enough." 

"Because of the woman—er—supposed genderless reaper inside of her." 

"Or something else" came out in a sigh looking down to the organized mess between them on the middle cushion. Multiple multicolored candy wrappers were strewn on either side as well as the bag itself, the small black remote on Elen's side. "Even though I had changed my mind about heaven and all of my duties and burdens, I can't help but feel something continues to hold me back." 

"When Dean cast me out, I believed it was the lack of a family and holding onto the one he had fashioned me into. I believed it was a need for physical affection as all humans need it to feel better on a level I don't completely understand. Then being with April—" the human name still was not enough as the head shook, another sigh taking in everything above the couch cushion. 

The small black table with the one worn stool still held the plastic and paper bags his offerings came in as well as the two bowls in different spots. If he were to stay longer than expected, he could imagine putting another helping into his body as a hand reached for the wine glass still on the black footstool. A slight grumbling sound came from the tall white refrigerator. There was a wipe board calendar against it, along with other objects and a mirror. On top, there was a square basket and a bouquet of yellow and white flowers. Two coffee mugs also made a home up there and it only fascinated him as one more thing to learn about from this woman. 

"Being with April still didn't cure this untouchable feeling that it seems I can't satisfy. I have dulled it my own self-punishment, human sustenance, and even the memory of the copulation as long as I forget about that poor woman being possessed by a reaper. It was nice, but something in the mind," Swallowing the sipped wine and eyes momentarily wincing at mistaking this mind as not his own, "It just did not feel like enough. Somehow it feels not too different from this continuing untouchable need to absolve Dean from all that he accuses himself of." 

Elen's lips were biting in towards one another, those pupils widening in darkly lit living room of her apartment. She looked concerned as he continued to look into those endless eyes of hers. Out of the corner of his own, one of those peach colored fingernails began poking at one of the many candy wrappers on the cushion between them.  

"It seems you want to honor where you come from even if it does involve a militant attitude you don't respect anymore," Her head quickly twitched as half clothed arms crossed on the pillow on her lap and leaning forward, the unrulier shoulder of her shirt dropping down an arm. "Do you want to be completely liberated from that rigidity even if It's not  _entir_ _ely_  apart of your identity anymore, Castiel?" 

As usual, the use of his name in her odd accent that pronounced it Kah-stee-ell, along with a tiny flip of the tongue, made him grin despite the question as he sat the wine glass back down. He remembered telling her that he still honored God, his God, despite all that had happened. To care and yet not care about the angels was one thing, but all angelic duty came to and from Him. Did God fashion his angelic guardians of his people to be deferential when they were held in such a high regard by God's people? Obviously the compassion should always be there, his own type of evolving benevolence from awakening from the submissive morals of a commander angel. But in how angels were fashioned, could or did he want to completely release that restraint? 

"I—I don't know," came out softer than expected, focusing on a found green button on the remote with a white circle above it. "I don't know what my identity is anymore especially with these human senses. I thought my identity could entirely be Steve from the Gas n Sip, but for the last few weeks I have wondered what I need to bring over from the life I led as Castiel the promoted seraph." 

"Yeah," the slurring word brought him to look at Elen's taunting grit that bared her teeth, "That might actually be my fault." 

A chuckle deeply reverberated the chest. In a way, it really was her fault for bringing some of these thoughts to his mind however welcome they really were. "I really don't mind it, in fact, I thank you." The ends of the lips simply lifted, feeling so grateful for this woman whose eyes were grinning far more than her mouth. 

"But how does a person bring good pieces of a broken previous life into a new one?" The eyes remained winced looking back to her before looking back down to his own pile of opened candy wrappers. "As it," the head effortlessly cocked to one humorous side, "As it seems you have experience in these sorts of things." 

The thoughtless comment only pursed her lips as he looked up, then making a puckering noise before graduating to a soft laugh. The soft puff made him chuckle far more than the laugh as one of her fingers continued to tease the candy wrapper between them, the tip of the nail puncturing deep into the metallic mass. Two fingers then picked it up, slowly rolling it between both palms as that face slowly tilted upwards. 

Despite a clock ticking from the left side of the room, one or perhaps many minutes had passed by before "you have to look at the bones of your biography from before" finally rolled out of that odd accent as she dropped the candy wrapper. "The bones of your biography that reminds you how you got to this place. Over time you can cushion it with some," Her face tilted back, eyelashes slowly blinking before those pupils came back into his, "details, people, good memories as you make peace with it all, but it does take time and on good days and bad days." Her copper although brown hair nodded against that half-clothed shoulder, "This sort of thing usually rebuilds itself, but never disregard the better memories just because of a toxic system that only cares about the idea of you." 

"The idea of a strict heavenly soldier is all I have been thought of as in the past and then a nuisance to others since. Yet part of me isn't sure I can entirely be without some of that natural restriction." 

"Well, the best expression  _does_ come from a repressive society!" The eyelids around her indistinguishable eye color slowly widened, the eyebrows disappearing into the browned hair on her forehead completely. It seemed that she very much believed this as she slowly slurred a "maybe" with a shoulder quickly shrugging. "Maybe as long as you keep mentally distancing Dean, you could turn into a different self you would actually like. But to keep the people you have essentially grown with, that is so much harder to keep away from your mind and I only wish I could tell you I don't live with that same struggle day after day." 

A wince could not help itself at last hearing something about Elen's, or whatever her name was from before, life. Was it better not to know anything that was hers as something in his chest almost hurt for the oddly named woman?  

"I'm sorry" scratched out of the throat in almost a whisper. 

"Yeah well" equally came out as quietly as Elen dropped her brownish hair against the headrest of the brown couch which now looked almost white in the dark. "Some separate for necessity and others for their own sanity."  

Breath barely scoffed in the back of the throat as it prompted a smile, Elen being not too far behind as she grinned far sweeter than usual. Even her eyes were oddly smiling before they looked back to the television, thinner looking eyelashes quickly fluttering.  

He almost expected for the movie to be taken off pause, leaning back into the cushioned comfort of Elen's couch. This actor did look very silly in his startled-like concern as an amusing smile slowly started to arch. 

"Do you think that untouchable need is entirely wanting to absolve Dean?" 

It was becoming ridiculous to continue watching this paused image. Thankfully the screen went dark as a gray box that read "Sony" moved around the perimeter. Looking down towards the last sip of wine in the clear glass still sitting on the footstool, his eyes could barely wince at the sudden and strange question, "I do not understand what you mean." 

"Well, sometimes unrequited love can result from repressing a need you want out of a person." 

"As the angel who rescued the Righteous Man, I have never needed anything out of Dean except for the heavenly assistance I convinced myself I too was a part of." Eyes still remained on that glass, believing he almost heard his voice shake at the thoughtless answer that came flying out of the mouth. 

"And over time?" That was what led him to finally look to the other end of the couch, Elen's eyes looking wider. That flipped "r" almost echoed for how quiet the room became. He almost didn't want to answer both of those question so quickly. What  _did_  he need out of Dean at any point in the friendship other than the assistance of being Michael's vessel and multiple other conveniences for his or the Winchesters' line of work?  

"I'm not sure. I don't think it's right to ask that right now with how I feel about Dean right now, but there was something about his humanity that is so," He still could not have been so thankful as the head shook feeling the lack of longer hairs tickling his forehead. But this time, the hood of his hoodie was bunched up under the back of the neck for having laid against it. As he flattened against his upper back "so like my own" groaned out of him for stretching his arm so far back, "Dean has dealt with a militant childhood and I believe I can understand what that's like."  

"Dean and I know what it's like to be soldiers for a greater cause except he is always so downtrodden and over protective to the ones he loves to the point of obsession." Not entirely thoughtless but not completely strategic, the words caught up to the mind realizing this was the perfect way to describe Dean now with his phone number no longer in his phone and essentially out of his life. But to be hard on Dean couldn't have been fair despite having cared for Dean for so long. The head tilted against the now flattened hood of his red shirt, "Maybe I should be glad I'm no longer an object of obsession for him." 

A quick scoff hiccupped off of the back of her throat as that gray box continued to bounce around the screen. Those dark pupils were grinning as he returned to them, but they only averted downwards, tracing a peach nail across the zig zagged pattern of the pillow still on her lap. Everything around her was brown between the lighting against her hair and the sleeve that slid down her shoulder.  

"Have you ever considered that untouchable need to be something else?" came out quietly as pupils slowly looked up from the pillow. They looked careful again and yet concerned with a slow wince, slightly covering up her indistinguishable eye color, "You have used the words saved, absolve, relieving Dean of some human burden." Brown hair shook against her bare shoulder, leaning across the pillow. The black tank top was quickly adjusted against her chest but those pupils began to look endless all over again, "Have you considered that there might be something baser that you need from him? Physical affection? A hug? Possible copulation like you had with the ambiguous reaper?" 

If he made a single move, the possible surprise of the very idea of sexual intercourse with Dean would look too much like how the Winchesters would react to the one thing they found shameful around one another and yet enjoyable in private. So he stayed frozen. Hopefully his gaze looked as unaffected as the body stayed still.  

A steady and deep breath moved the chest and the stiff moment was at last released. That concerned wince was still weighing against Elen's eyes, barely staring into her pupils. He really didn't have to be like the Winchesters! The sudden thought almost rose tears into his eyes. He didn't have to react to human topics like the two humans he had spent the most time with! But somehow knowing the woman on the other end of this couch, this did not sound completely crazy to at least one person if he chose to speak it out loud. 

"I—" came out surprisingly ragged as a hand mindlessly reached for his mouth, nerves quickly jumping from the sudden movement, and wiping it quickly. "I have often wondered if offering the same affectionate grab of the back of the neck or the patting of a shoulder could cure it. But I," a scoff fell out louder than expected, finding it amazing to even say these things out loud. The nerves jumped all over again, but whether it was from the words or the volume of the sounds off the back of the throat, he didn't know. 

"I-I'm not sure if it could be enough, I thought that despite my changing morals with heaven, humans were still beyond my reach for the longest time. I," it was barely a scoff, but something breathed far more unevenly as a calmer inhale breathed inward. Something even felt a little wet in the corner of his eyes as the throat swallowed, the sound echoing in ears. "I thought it could have been the great tie or what you," a hand gestured towards Elen's side of the couch, a soft grin parting her mouth to slightly reveal less sarcastic teeth, "called unrequited love. But I've also wondered once giving him that offering, would it even be enough? Would it be enough to absolve or save or relieve all of that hell in one man?" 

Her smile left as quickly as it came, a hand reaching out for the arm next to their shared cushion. The image of painted fingernails and how pale her hand was against the dark red shirt was comforting, nerves barely jumping or feeling an imprint-like sensation. That was different, not feeling a sensation of touch echoing down into the muscles. Looking up from the crook of his elbow into her sadly smiling eyes, that brown-looking hair laid on the headrest of the middle part of the couch. Elen's lips gently pursed. 

"If your God created his angelic staff and his own people, there has to be many similarities between the two races. I hate to tell you this but," a quick sigh expelled out of that concerned look all over her face. "physical affection honestly can't save everyone. Sometimes it depends on the type of person. You and I are in that hypersensitive club and Dean is obviously an abuse survivor who hides behind an alpha male discomfort." One pair of eyelashes quickly flickered as she still laid up against the headrest. "I-I hope I'm not being presumptuous. You are,  _were_ , are friends with him and know him better than I ever will." 

"Somehow I can believe that. But there is a vulnerability that appears every so often that makes me—" the head shook against a slowly bunching up hoodie before meeting her gaze. Lying on one side of his face as Elen had and closer to a low light of the television, there was a little green in her irises. "Believe that there is a part of him he won't allow anyone to see. Sam might see small aspects of it and obviously I saw even less of it until it appeared in his eyes during a moment of desperation." 

"You love him for being broken like that, and as an angel you were drawn to the broken." At that, tears almost fell out of each pocket as he looked down to that pile of candy wrappers, "It might be why you carry a weight since you rescued him from hell, it might be a tie or unrequited love or maybe even guilt that it all started from a heavenly duty you were beginning to hate." 

"It seems you equally care for the broken as well." 

"Unfortunately, I do." The eyebrows rose as her pupils affectionately rolled, "I do like the people I bring into my world to be a little crazy. Against my standards, you are actually quite sane." 

His nerves immediately jumped, hearing a laugh vibrate out of the throat. The room really was too quiet with the exception of the ticking clock next to the front door. Elen was smiling in that slow way again, the slight hollow underneath her cheekbones filling out.  Her mouth at last parted in a complete grin as that brownish hair slightly shook against the white-looking couch.  

"I don't think it's very probable that a person's hair color could match the ability to save another person, but I just realized that redheaded women tend to find me at my lowest. Daphne had copper colored hair like yours, but lighter. Even April was one but—" 

"We don't talk about that one?" Eyes mockingly widened as Elen slurred out the teasing rhetoric question and the throat couldn't help a chuckle. 

"Yeah, let's not. But it is strange that redheaded women tend to be my saving grace more often than not." 

"And in threes. Three is the number of good fortune. Basically, you are where you're supposed to be," the hair in question nodded elaborately against the pale furniture color, "Even if it sucks. Besides, redheads are known to be more intuitive, although the reaper still doesn't count." A small flex of lips was enough to make Elen grin all over her face. 

"I only hope that I'm not being rude about your friendship with Dean when I ask these things." 

"I only hope that it's not strange to you that I had never even remotely thought of sexual intimacy with Dean." 

Somehow the phrase fell out so strangely, every muscle in the face scrunched upwards. That smile still remained on her face as a teasing look came in and out of those dark pupils quickly.  

"You're the one who knows him best. He has lied for convenience and has been all of these things that doesn't really paint him in a good light" she gently slurred as one hand gestured towards herself, "in my direction. But there is a chance he wouldn't even receive that proposal, even if you wanted it, very well. I may not know many white alpha cis-het men, but an abuse survivor who has never healed in the way that they need to heal would not respond to physical affection or intimacy as well as other people." 

Somehow, he nodded. The couch texture on his cheek was soft and scratchy all at the same time as a hefty exhale blew out of the nose.  

He remembered the dreams he used to watch within Dean's mind in the flash of a second. A young Dean standing in the doorway of a motel room watching Impala drive away in a cloud of smoke. There was blonde hair and a shocked female face against a ceiling bursting into flames. Dean's first kill. Maybe Dean never had the time to heal the way he should have, but this was who he was and never once could a wholehearted reach of a hand against his shoulder or the back of the neck could help any of it.  

"I-I held onto hope for the longest time as the brothers and I were gaining each other's trust. The more Dean and I became more like friends, the more he started to grab a shoulder," the head shook against that coarse material, not identifying the body as completely his was a bad habit, "and occasionally hugging me after extreme moments of desperation or grief. When I finally felt we were on, what you humans call, the same page, I finally grabbed his shoulder and I felt as if I could have anxiously exhaled that I at last could get that nagging sensation out of the body." A deeper exhale practically rattled the ribs, looking up to the spread that still remained on the table.  "I couldn't get rid of it." 

A much smaller hand went down on the cushion between them, gathering up another candy wrapper and pinched it in multiple different directions. "I'm sorry you never could get any of that out of your system. If he was more emotionally," Elen's eyes immediately darted upwards from the metal casing, "I mean, more openly emotionally driven, you should have had sex with him." 

"I doubt I could have found a substantial female vessel—" 

Those eyebrows lifted and a laugh wanted to fall out for how sardonic she looked with her pupils almost looking over glasses frames. Even if he was still an angel, he almost would not have wanted to read her thoughts at this moment. Reaching for another chocolate, the scent and the unwrapping sharp sounds assisted the clicking sounds of the clock.  

"And I doubt that I would not honor Jimmy's vessel very well even if I did—" 

"Jimmy was a good man. A little strict on praying so often to a broken system, but he was devout and wanted to assist heaven in any way he could. Sleeping with Dean would not have been heavenly assistance and even after Jimmy had died, I still think it would not be honorable to his vessel." 

Pale palms lifted upwards in mid-air, lifting a little further as Elen chuckled "alright, alright, I get it. I won't push." The looser sleeve fell off her shoulder all over again as hands fell against knees, the sound barely another sound to echo in this quiet living room. What little light that was still reflecting off of her glasses from the television officially went completely black. 

"But," that odd accent slurred, those pupils looked even more careful towards him all over again as each lid widened. "even with all of the insistent exceptions, there is still something underneath it all that you don't need to admit to me." 

"I do remember walking into that demon trapped barn staring Dean down and Jimmy," a tongue quickly wet his lips, watching those pupils just feet away from his own against that cushion. He could still taste the chocolate on the back of his throat, "I could feel his soul lurch backwards in fright and intimidation just looking at Dean, but there was something—something else I think I can understand after having had sexual relations with April." 

"Attraction. Stupid inconvenient human attraction. That's not surprising," The pillow was finally released from her lap as Elen sat it on the floor and then in picking up that blue water bottle, sitting it between her knees, "You have said it before that human men don't let themselves talk about their vulnerability and feeling or even discussing attraction to other men is even more scarce." That "r" rolled against the ticking clock. "This is kind of a doomed situation for you. Thank the Goddess that heavenly beings have a far healthier sexual politics than these dumb humans down here?" Her eyes slowly winced the longer she rhetorically wondered out loud. 

It was the irony of thanking a Goddess for his heaven burst helpless laughter out of the throat. It still tasted like chocolate, feeling that texture against his face looking back at Elen who merely giggled and shook her head.  

"Answer me a question." 

"Shoot." 

"Why does your voice sound different than most of the humans I have met?" 

Now the only light source was a small plugged-in light in the kitchen, it being enough to see a slow smile lift all of Elen's face as she shrugged "well, I do speak another language. Welsh, but I don't blame you for not being quick on the uptake. You've had a lot to think about." 

"Tell me something in Welsh." 

All of her upper body twitched backwards, eyelids widening in surprise. A chuckle almost wanted to vibrate outwards. "Well, that's something no one's ever asked me before. I should have stretched first." But before he could question why she would have stretched before speaking in a native or chosen language, a nose scrunched up and brown-ish hair just shook as it still laid against the back cushion. 

"Castiel,  _nid_ _ydych_ _chi a fi_ _wedi_ _eu_ _torri_ _allan_ _i_ _gymdeithas_ _ddynol_ _yn_ _unig_ _._ _Mae'n_ _rhy_ _anhygoel_ _i'n_ _personoliaethau_.*" Usually red hair nodded in that decisive way and a smile could not have felt even wider hearing his name against whatever she just said. Knowing Elen, it was something profound. "Oh  _ac, ac_ _rydych_ _chi'n_ _llwyr_ _eisiau_ _cael_ _rhyw_ _gyda_ _Dean_ " and with that, she burst out giggling, dark glasses frames slightly sliding down her nose.  

"I don't think I really want to know what that last statement entails." 

"Probably not." 

A smile was still on her face as teeth gritted then expelled air, falling into another scoffing-like laugh. Looking down to the pile of chocolate he had eaten off and on for the past how many hours, everything felt even more cathartic than that previous Tuesday. Everything about Dean was officially off of his mind although without complete closure. Dean was Dean and whether if it was pessimistic to believe that, all of that stress was completely off his back. Even one side of his mouth slightly twitched in a grin. He was as free of this as he could be.  

Looking back up at Elen, her lips pursed and the ends of the mouth slightly inched upwards. Now he could at last sit back in the reclining feature and enjoy the rest of the cryptic comedic film. Still, this felt comfortable, the texture against bare skin almost lulled him to sleep watching the redhead that saved him lean forward. 

Her lips were soft as they simply pressed against his. It felt nice and nothing like with Daphne or April or even Amelia whose imprint he could still feel as he re-entered Jimmy's soulless body. But this wasn't anything that he had with Daphne or April so arms did not wrap around her or deepen the slightly chocolate scented kiss. The mind couldn't entirely describe how different this was. It wasn't romantic or completely platonic. If he was created human, this would have been easier. 

Elen's cheeks were faintly pink returning to her end of the couch with a grinning look in her eyes far more than the mouth. But eyes couldn't help a quick wince as the mindless body, leaned forward and with a lip between hers barely wedging them open, he still could not decipher what this feeling was. A sound echoed in the back of her throat. It didn't feel wrong but it also didn't feel incredibly right. Maybe this too was a part of the human experience. 

"Hmm, not vomit-y." 

"Excuse me?" 

Elen's cheeks were still blushing as he moved past the littered cushion between them. There was even barely any embarrassment to be felt as he froze all over again. Maybe this was what it meant to be human and the redhead who saved him was definitely beautiful in all of her spiritual path and quirkiness.  

A scoff quickly breezed through her chest, attempting to lift that unruly sleeve against a shoulder. As she gathered the pillow back into her lap, "Well, in my experience, I have kissed 3 different men, boys, three or four years ago and my stomach got violently ill. Since humans don't have healthy sexual politics, I fear," her voice sounded lighter as eyes rolled upwards, "I need to explain that since then I have been kissing and sleeping with women ever since, I think I prefer it." 

"I am glad you are happy with that, but I am also pleased you are not repulsed by me." 

"Or you me." 

"Why would I—" and Elen burst out laughing before he could say anything else, the relenting insistence of possibly wanting to copulate with Dean only made him sigh when he realized this irony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1 = "Angels." Within Temptation. "The Silent Force." (2004)  
> *2 = "Today Will Be Better (I Swear!)" Stars. "In Our Bedroom After the War." (2007)  
> *3 = "Life 2: The Unhappy Ending." Stars. "In Our Bedrooms After the War." (2007)  
> *4 = "You and me are just not cut out for human society. It's too incredible for our personalities."


	5. Chapter 5

The mouth continued to chew the mixture of bread, cheese, and meat thinking over that question. "What is a day in the life of Steve?" There were things he could say, something like what Elen called a "convenient lie" just to get a blameless question answered. But the longer he sat there, stewing over that echoing question reverberating against the nerves like a hand on the shoulder, anger could only sink in all over again. It was strange how such a simple and matter of fact question could conjure up so much emotion. He almost wanted to hate himself. 

"Steve works as many shifts at the Gas n Sip that he can, although now a high school student was just hired part time so Steve has some time off. The change does not feel right to him. He eats at diners," and a hand lifted the pizza to his mouth, the tops of pupils immediately taking in a quirk of Dean's lip. The look almost jolted him out of the defeated mood Ephraim put him in, anger effortlessly running through the bones. He continued to chew his food. 

"Steve goes to the park just to sit and watch people when he can, sometimes he will go to a diner just to drink coffee and people-watch, he r-reads," his voice quickly shook, almost embarrassed to even disclose this new hobby. If Dean were to ask what kinds of books, he could only imagine the amusement all over his face of the two books Elen offered to him.  

That last Saturday he went into her apartment returning Thoreau and left it a little later that night with a book by a woman named May Sarton. Journal of a Solitude came well recommended from her, explaining it was the first Sarton book she had read and that the woman was brilliant.  

Elen's finger lifted and ruffled through the small paperback book, stopping on a page.  "There is no doubt that solitude is a challenge and to maintain balance within it a precarious business. But I must not forget that, for me, being with people or even one beloved person for any length of time without solitude is even worse. I lose my center, I feel dispersed, scattered, in pieces. I must have time alone in which to mull over my encounter, and to extract its juice, its essence, to understand what has really happened to me as a consequence of it." 

Those endless pools looked up to his and a smile slowly grew on his mouth watching her grin at the same time. There wasn't much point in going into anything further as to the reason why he should read it as what she just quoted said it all. "It can be a little depressing at times, but just like anxiety, sometimes a little depression can be good, it tells your nervous system where your limits are." 

But now, right now against a noisy vinyl bench and underneath fluorescent light, he disclosed that it was "Steve" who enjoyed reading when it was really him. The angel whose name was pronounced differently by a friend as Kah-stee-ell. In taking another bite of the slice of pizza and feeling the cooked dough yield under the fingertips, "Despite trying not to make many friends, Steve has made one—" 

"Yeah he has! That Nora is a pretty good-looking chick." 

"Dean, don't—" his mouth almost shaped into the advice Elen gave him about how men should talk to women and how the word chick "is both dated and just fucking tacky." A lip wanted to quirk remembering how wry she sounded saying that. He did have way too much to unlearn when it came to Dean's aggressive ways and before tonight even with all of this heavy exhaustion against the mind, the nerves, and muscles, he was doing so well! 

Leave it to a rit zien, and one who once looked up to him, to be the first angel he would encounter in human form and so susceptible to dying. Somehow it was easy to understand that Ephraim should have killed him, but everything he said felt far more like a death as they were still tickling the insides of the nerves. He wasn't wrong. Occasionally those nerves continued to jump in the memory of Ephraim's vessel looking at him so disappointed, the more those words stewed in the muscles, the more that look haunted him far more than his words! Something had to be done. 

Something  _had_  to be done and yet a part of the body was not completely ready for it. It wanted to read this May Sarton book, finding a fascination in being alone but not lonely, and having more talks with Elen over coffee or food. Perhaps she could even introduce him to more films. It did almost feel like selfishness, but blameless all at once knowing that something had to be done soon with or without Ephraim's vessel's disappointed look all over his gaze.  

"Don't what?" Dean was chewing on his pizza crust, looking happy to have cheese coming out of it as he pulled it away from his mouth. Fingers lifted to separate the stringy substance and between bites, shoving it in between his lips, "You're really not going to actually ask her out?" 

"There's no point in that, Dean. We both assumed too quickly what she wanted out of me tonight, if I had time to ask for a female perspective I would have asked—" 

It came out far too quickly and Dean was grinning, dropping the rest of his crust on the white plate then grabbing his soft drink. The slurps were far louder than expected as he looked up to the square paneling of the ceiling. Every other textured square held a lighted unit and like that table at the Garden Café just that last week, the design of the regular tiles felt calming. "It's nothing like that, Dean. Elen and I are good friends and she has helped me get used to humanity." 

"Well, I guess that's good." 

"I suppose you could say she has been a sort of therapist." 

A nasally sound practically guffawed out of Dean's throat and once more, a sigh could not help itself. He could only hope that the sudden sound out of him would not be verbally observed by Dean who was clearly caught between disbelief and humor. Maybe it was because of the awful evening, Ephraim, and regretting putting Nora's daughter in danger, Dean did seem like he was trying too hard to lift his spirits. Did Dean really think him the same person he was as an angel? Was he the same person he was as an angel?  

Those green eyes had a little gold glint in them as he laughed, fingers touching his forehead before running them back into brown hair looking almost blonde in the bright fluorescence of the pizza place. "A therapist? Dude, you definitely don't need a therapist." 

It was like Dean to say something like that, hearing the vinyl underneath him make an odd noise as he shifted then taking a quick sip of his own soft drink. It wasn't too surprising. Elen would still be up, but it would hardly be fair to her to randomly show up at her apartment never needing to vent more than after a night like tonight. He did have ten dollars that could buy a tub of ice cream as an offering, almost imagining the both of them sitting on her couch eating directly out of it with spoons. 

"Well," Dean clearly sounded uncomfortable as he finished the last of his stuffed crust of his fifth slice of pizza. Dean slightly leaned over the table, looking almost in ecstasy over his own food. It would be like him watching Dean taking a deep breath. "How about we box up these leftovers and go watch a movie? I should probably get a motel room somewhere around here—" 

"I really just want to go to sleep right now, Dean." 

There went the ice cream idea, but sleep also sounded just as good. 

Dean looked like someone kicked his puppy, the phrase slightly tweaking the side of the mouth. He never intended to hurt Dean at any point during this hectic Thursday, watching the lids around those golden-green irises squint so hard the color almost completely disappeared. "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, Dean. Between dealing with a newborn and getting my ass kicked by a rit zien, I am exhausted." 

"Fair enough, buddy. So," he exhaled, not looking too rejected, "where's home?" 

Dean was not going to like this answer as the teeth almost gritted nervously, watching Dean hail down a waiter to get a box for the four remaining slices. He wasn't going to get to her apartment that night.  

"I have an air mattress in the back room of the Gas n Sip" and yet, did Dean have the right to know this? The eyes closed as a sigh proved impossible, damning himself for even being honest after all of the wars in his head over this understandable idiot across the booth from him. 

"Nope, not acceptable." 

The last slice was placed in the large box fit for a large pizza and those green eyes with a little less gold were smiling up to him. It was strange not looking Dean in the eye like he used to as the box was closed. 

"Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to get you a motel room until the end of the week. You should have a place by then, right?" 

"Dean..." 

"I can't you're still homeless! Shouldn't another good looking non-reaper chick be taking you in?" 

"Dean..." 

"That therapist you think you have should go in on finding you a place—" 

"Dean!" The blood flow ran a little faster, conjuring the softest command he could muster at a low volume. His eyebrows fell to the tops of eyelids, somehow trying to be both firm and yet compassionate all at the same time. But was compassion the best emotion to have towards Dean at this point and after everything he had discussed for the past few weeks? 

Dean looked stunned, placing the box back on the table. Wincing at the sudden thump almost felt like an assault on the ears, it sounded far louder than the soft conversation at the register counter or the music playing from somewhere in the ceiling. Another sigh fell out as an elbow sat on the table and his fingers reached up to the bridge of the nose. 

"I have done fairly well for myself here in Rexburg" came out surprisingly firm considering how badly the throat wanted to shake. The hand only continued to hold his face, feeling like such a coward for not being able to maintain composure in looking directly at Dean. "It might not be legal to live on that air mattress and all the measures I take when I don't have a night shift, but right now I cannot bring myself to think ahead. Sometimes," His hand finally dropped and folded with the other one on top of the table, focusing on the top of his thumbnails, "I can't even get off the air mattress most mornings."  

"Since Elen happened to me two weeks ago," somehow at her name, he could look into those green irises but not into Dean's pupils completely, "It's been easier, so I don't want you calling her a chick or making fun of her for being something like a therapist to me. It's rude although it may not seem very rude to you." That almost felt like a gateway to everything he wanted and didn't want to say to Dean as the teeth practically grinded as his lips finally shut.  

"Wh-what we can do," he heard himself from a distance, realizing a comprising way to spend the last four hours of the night, "We can just drive around like the Impala is meant to do." 

"Baby _does_ hate sitting in parking lots for too long" thankfully was all that came out of Dean. 

This was going to be a long four hours. 

 

*

  

Was he still feeling emotional exhaustion or was it just plain sleepiness at this point? He could barely tell as the Impala drove up towards the parking spots in front of the Gas n Sip. Hands immediately wiped down his face, nerves in both the hands and cheeks only slightly responding from the quick touch, almost missing the comforting feel of the Impala's car seat against his back.  

Somehow, he managed to stay awake that whole night, quickly texting Elen with a "you're not going to believe who is driving me around town." She was far too perceptive for her own good, not even answering with a "Dean" but instead with a sarcastic "you do know ex-angels can still get charged as humans for homicide, right?" It took every ounce of him to not burst out laughing, imagining her voice saying that as he put the phone into his pocket. 

"Now what are you doing? Burying your head in the sand. Right when your kind needs you the most." 

"You say you want to live. But you can't see what I see. By choosing a human life, you've already given up. You … chose … death." 

"I used to admire you. You failed more often than you succeeded. But at least you played big." 

It was strange how choosing a human life barely affected him in the light of 7 AM, but now it was the fact that Ephraim once admired him that stung far more. He did this out of bitterness, not benevolence. All his brothers and sisters that might had felt something for him once all must have changed their feelings towards him, but did they even matter anymore after making peace with himself? Now it felt like something between clarity and hating every part of this situation, unable to run away from it but even that could look like burying his head in the sand … according to a brother who didn't condemn him right away for changing his mind about the slow changes in heaven. 

"Listen, Cas—" almost shocked him in how quiet the Impala was for once. Dean was blaring that favorite band of his with the odd name of Led Zeppelin all night which only confirmed the sounds of nature was a far better song for him personally. "Back at the bunker, I uh … sorry I told you to go." 

He had to force a sigh to come out as just an exhale, Dean talking about his feelings would always sound like this. He could never have the conversations he had with Elen with him. 

"I know it's been hard on you, you know, on your own. Well, you're adapting. I'm proud of you." 

There were a million things he could have said right back to that, both angry and compassionate. His head dropped back on the comforting head rest, hearing a "thank you, Dean" coming out of him. Somehow, he strangely meant it actually hearing something close to compassionately affirmative out of Dean. "But …" 

"But there's something Ephraim said. The angels – they need help," he couldn't really deny that part as the head remained on the headrest, looking out towards his destiny for the day that was not open yet He almost looked forward to cleaning the slushie machine, yelling at the unruly teenager boys once school got out, all the wry and mocking text messages he would get after an equally mockingly ominous text message back to Elen that would simply say "what's your favorite ice cream?" 

"C-can I really sit this out? Shouldn't be I searching for a way to get them home?" Even if he was destined to stay here and pissed off at Dean for the time being almost wanted to come out of his throat, but Dean didn't need to know the depth of his feelings at this moment. He could almost hear Elen's calm rolling voice reply with a "the thought of your angelic siblings confused or depressed or terrified […] will cut deeper into eventually." Was this that eventually at last? Maybe Dean and not Ephraim was the catalyst to all of this. 

"Me and Sam will take care of the angels," Dean would say that, the mind huffed as he looked over to those green irises remembering to not look into those pupils. He had done well for most of last night into morning. "You're human now, it's not your problem anymore." 

Before he could even heave a scoff, an arm finally found the will to open the Impala door. Fingers almost loitered on the handle, wondering if he would ever feel this level of comfort ever again, but with that comfort also came aphoristic words out of Dean's mouth. Somehow, they didn't feel like enough anymore and barely a comfort considering all of the angels suffering in human vessels here on earth.  

There was too much and yet too little to say to Dean, looking through the window wondering if he would ever see the hunter again. A, his, hand rose to something like a wave towards the rolled-up Impala window. Somehow, as Dean gestured the same way and starting up his baby, he almost wouldn't mind not seeing Dean ever again as the 1967 Chevrolet Impala drove out of the Gas n Sip's parking lot.  

That text message was the first thing to be done before Gas n Sip duties. After the night he had, he deserved one indulgence before working until 5 that day. After the proposal of ice cream, "you're not going to believe the night I had last night" mindlessly came out of his fingers and the sudden familiarity, what Elen now meant to him after only two weeks seem to be something a freshly human Castiel would never perceive.  

But there were still the angels, never having felt more mixed as the thick scent of coffee permeated the gas station. It was a comforting smell and he would need some before customers started to come in as the cash drawer was placed in its register and the TV being turned on.  

"It's been weeks since the massive meteor storm, yet Idaho Falls astronomers still have unanswered questions. NASA and Washington are both continuing to study the phenomenon."  

Weeks-old footage of God's angels falling from the sky cascaded across the television screen in the corner and the eyes, his eyes, almost wanted to roll at the continuing coverage. Would it ever be over? No. For as long as true unvesseled humans sought after questions and what they perceived as truth, even if it stayed out of the media, God's creation would persist in attempting to understand what was beyond them. It was the best and worst of humanity and yet now he was a part of it. Today he would indulge in something different, something both Elen and himself would appreciate as a step closer to taking care of his brothers and sisters. 

He switched off the television. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***All canonical dialogue comes courtesy from http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=9.06_Heaven_Can%27t_Wait_(transcript)


End file.
